


Bonneville Noir

by EloquentSavage



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Werewolf Lore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Laura Hale, Banshee Lydia Martin, Bottom Derek Hale, Comforting Derek, Coping, Creeper Matt, Dead Laura Hale, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Derek Hale is a Softie, Human Erica Reyes, Human Isaac Lahey, Human Scott McCall, Human Vernon Boyd, Hurt/Comfort, Jennifer Blake is Julia Baccari, M/M, New York City, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Praise Kink, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Stiles Stilinski, Unbeta'd, Vernon Boyd & Derek Hale Friendship, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, faoladh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloquentSavage/pseuds/EloquentSavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sliding his hands around Stiles’ chest Derek found the scents of the Camaro, Laura, and New York still clinging to him like a map of the places he had been. </p><p>Holding him made him real. He wasn’t a figment of Derek’s imagination. Stiles was here, and he was staying. Uncontrollable relief spilled out of him, but the right words, the right voice was there to pick him back up. Repeated apologies whispered against his skin relentlessly, melting the last of the anger he stubbornly held on to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bullet and a Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd 
> 
> What if the Hales never left New York AU. Faoladh AU. Useful, purposeful werewolves. Protectors and champions of the weak. Unapologetic killers of killers. There are a few really gruesome parts to this story. It starts out rough, lots of damage, but it picks up. Happy ending, I promise.

Aching, burning tiredness made it hard to blink. Each flutter of his eyelids reminded him exactly how long it had been since he left New York. He was only still awake because anxiety did that to a person. Thinking in circles, he convinced himself he couldn’t stop. He wasn't allowed. The man who shot Laura might be dead, but his partners weren’t. The fact that Derek tore the guy and his henchmen to pieces was undoubtedly the only reason he had gotten out of town in one piece. It would take a while for the partner to catch up to him, but they would, eventually.

Beautiful, happy, brilliant Laura was dead. Shot in the head. Over diamonds. Fucking rocks. Such useless inanimate objects in no way equated to the value of a life. Not Laura’s life. He and Laura had stolen a lot of useless shit for rich assholes with money to burn, but John Ennis and his enigmatic partner acted like the diamonds Derek had stashed in the console of the Camaro were worth more than any life, maybe even their own. Derek hoped for that. He hoped the partner would come looking for him because he took the diamonds, whoever the partner was. Derek needed time though. He had to come up with a plan, a good one. The partner, and everyone else involved in Laura's death had to die. If Derek died killing them, so be it. He was alone now, and he hated himself for always relying on Laura. He didn't even know how to make good plans. He should have paid more attention. 

Revenge wouldn't be a possibility if he was dead though. There was a big difference between getting killed exacting revenge, and crashing because you fall asleep at the wheel. It wasn't Derek's fate to be some unidentifiable sap on the side of the road trapped under a flaming car. He had to stop and sleep. Laura would tell him to stop and sleep. Take care of himself so he could think clearly. Make a plan that was vicious, brutal, and foolproof. Strike once, close to the heart. She would say a lot of things to him right now if she could, and most of them wouldn’t be so nice, but they would all be Laura. It would be better if she was here instead of in his head. A lot better. 

Every time he pictured Laura talking to him, carefully explaining things he needed to remember, he recalled the way the bullet barely marred the front of her face, but somehow destroyed the back of her head. He didn’t understand the physics of it. It didn’t make sense. He wished he could ask someone who understood that sort of thing so he would at least know that was normal, or if they had come armed with special bullets, if they knew what he and Laura really were. 

Finally, Derek pulled over and parked behind a bar to try and get a couple hours of sleep. Some seedy dive joint that looked like it was full of bored, middle aged men, more likely to care about the flashy car he was in than who was driving it. He had to get a new ride soon, even though the thought of abandoning Laura’s Camaro made him sick, he had to do it. Laura would have been pissed at him for keeping it as long as he already had. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t lose the car the next day, or the day after. He couldn’t make himself, he kept finding excuses. It was rational, in a way. Portland, where Peter was, wasn’t that far away and he could store it there. No one knew Peter was in Portland, he was comatose in the long term care facility under an assumed name. Peter couldn’t help, but Derek had no other direction. The world was a grey haze of terrible feelings and numbness, one day morphing into the next as he tried to focus on what he should do to fix this, but all he ended up doing was driving faster, sleeping less, and talking to Laura. 

Laura was wrong about a lot of things. Mostly she was wrong about sleep. It cleared his head and made things much worse, but he had to sleep to drive. It was cyclical torture, but he deserved some kind of retribution. Some sort of punishment for not ripping John Ennis to bloody shreds just for pulling the gun on Laura. He wanted to. He replayed the moment of rage and the desire to murder John Ennis over and over again. No, Derek didn’t do it. He stopped himself and waited, let Laura talk her way out of it like she always did, but she never had the chance. Derek could still smell her blood on his skin. 

After a couple stops, almost seven, eight hours of sleep in twenty four hours, he realized he was talking to himself out loud when he heard Laura’s voice in his head. The reality of how insane that was slammed into him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Then Laura was screaming at him to stop, to stop talking to her like she was really there. Derek needed to be sane enough to pull off any plan, so he told himself she was gone. He set some rules for himself, did as Laura really would have wanted, not what his rage dictated for her. Rationalizing for his sanity, sometimes he it felt like she was with him. Her scent was too strong in the car still, and she had always been close by. That didn’t feel like it had changed, like maybe he carried a piece of her out of the shipping container he buried her under. 

Or maybe he was just talking to himself and he needed to stop or he’d end up just like Peter. Sleeping in the car and eating out of gas stations wasn't helping his sanity. Too much bad food. Bad chemicals, bad smells, bad people. Derek wanted desperately to focus on revenge, the plan, strategize, count up the sins and decide how many pounds of flesh would would make things right for losing Laura. But he had to do certain things to get himself right. He had to follow his new rules: shower, eat, sleep when he was tired. He needed to be whole and sharp to do right by her. 

Stopping in Laramie, Derek ate at a steakhouse, then checked into a sprawling, anonymous, beige chain hotel. The stench of other people was overwhelming. He went to the grocery store and picked up cinnamon, apples, and peaches. Just like Laura taught him, the cinnamon sprinkled everywhere was irritating at first, but eventually it settled. The strong, comforting scent cleverly masked all the other smells in the room. He slept soundly for the first time in days. 

The next day he woke up sleep drunk and disoriented. He hit the road again, but didn't make it far before he was nodding off at the wheel again. His body was rebelling, demanding more rest. The stress of the life they led had always kept him hypervigilant. He never slept enough, not in the last fourteen years. Pushing his body so much further wore him out in ways he didn't know were possible, especially for someone like him. Whatever they were, werewolf Laura liked to call it, the ability to heal and the sharpness stopped counting for much when his internal battery had been tapped out finally. He had to play along. He had to stop and rest and let himself recover finally. 

This time he stopped at a roadside motel because it had nice landscaping. It was cleaner than a place like that should be. The silver airstream trailer with a permanent fence around it, right next to the motel, proved someone cared for the place a lot. Most likely because they owned it. A place like this was safe. No cameras, nice people, anonymity. He could relax here and put himself back together. 

The little old man who took his money and checked him in talked like he was proud of the place. He described the room amenities and promised Derek would be happy. Then he made idle conversation about the drag racers in Bonneville when he saw Derek's car. The old man correctly identified it as a cherry red '68 Camaro convertible. Derek assured the man he wasn't a racer, but he went on about it anyhow. Derek had been worried about the car being noticed, but it sounded like his would just be one of hundreds in this neck of the woods at least. People would assume he showed up for the drag racing. Derek let himself entertain the idea that it was a sign of good fortune. Things might be looking up. 

Talking to the old man reminded Derek he needed to speak to other people, to keep trying to be normal. It had been a while since he said more than how much gas to put in the tank. He was good at conversation when he tried, not like Laura, but he would need to be better if he was going to do this on his own. Derek smiled and told the old man about Laura’s car, things that would impress him and make the old man like him. 

Laura was the grifter, Derek was the muscle, but he Laura always told him he had a nice, easy, goofy smile that made people trust him. She pointed out all the time how his smile got him halfway there. People believed what he said when he grinned because he looked real, approachable, like he had let his guard down. Derek never let his guard down though, not for anyone but Laura. 

Letting the conversation naturally taper off, Derek asked about places to eat, saying how hungry he was. The old man recommended a barbeque place down the road, then graciously waved Derek off. Told him rest and eat, enjoy his stay. Derek smiled gratefully, not feeling any of the emotion he forced himself to express. The old man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back. He liked Derek, he believed all of it. Maybe Derek was better at this than he thought. 


	2. A girl, and a guy named Gary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura was better in these situations. She knew how to handle things quietly, but Derek wasn't going to even try. Not today, not when he had no reason to be diplomatic or kind to anyone.

Sharp, amber eyes followed Derek as he got out of his car and headed toward the order window at the barbeque shack. The eyes belonged to a guy who shouldn't have been with the worn out, flannel wearing trucker he was sitting across from. The trucker talked, laughing as he told a story to the young, handsome man. Derek walked up the stairs and across the deck, hyper aware of the young man’s eyes following him. The guy was curious, not like he recognized Derek, but long after the guy should have looked away, Derek could still feel his eyes. He forced himself to sit down next to the order window and ignore the guy by reading and rereading the takeout menu on the table.

After glancing up a couple times to see if the creeper had moved on, Derek looked up to see what the guy wanted. He gave Derek a soft, appreciative smile. The sincerity of his smile surprised Derek. The guy looked away when the trucker snapped at him for paying attention to Derek. His expression morphed instantly, soft and suggestive as he twisted a few well chosen words to placate the trucker. He didn't know Derek could hear everything he said. The trucker snickered and looked Derek up and down appreciatively, agreeing with lewd comment the young man whispered.

The trucker called the guy Gary, but the young man didn't look like a Gary.The kid was a grifter if Derek ever saw one, and he was good, besides the transition. Laura never would have transitioned that fast if she knew someone was watching. It gave the game away instantly. Mistakes that careless made even stupid people suspicious. Derek entertained himself momentarily with the thought that maybe he distracted the guy enough to ruin his game, but no one that good would be that blatant unless there was a reason. The guy had wanted the truckers attention, not Derek’s.

Later that night he thought about the guy. His easy manner. The way he sprawled out over two chairs, sipping his soda and watching everything like he couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck. Even on his best day Derek could never pull something that disaffected. People always assumed he was angry when he tried to look like he didn’t care. Laura said Derek tried too hard. She had been teaching him how to hold himself and talk to people. He remembered everything she said, but it was hard to understand without her here to show him, remind him how she had shown him before. He replayed the lessons in his head until he finally fell asleep, thankful for the cleanliness and how much pride the old man put in his motel.

Loud bangs against his wall jolted Derek awake. The unmistakable sounds of terror and grief came from the room next door. A girl was crying, sobbing, saying she didn't want to be hurt. A big man’s voice warned her to be quiet, not to speak above a whisper or he would hurt her again. Derek closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, wishing he could ignore it. Even in the middle of the worst week of his life he had to help her. There was never a question if he would or not, there had never been room for a question. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t help the girl.

Laura was better in these situations. She knew how to handle things quietly, but Derek wasn't going to even try. Not today, not when he had no reason to be diplomatic or kind to anyone. He climbed out of bed, putting on his clothes quickly and packing his things up. He barely had time to unpack anything, so it only took a moment. He had listened to the man whisper about how he bought the girl, how she owed him, exactly how the man expected her to work it off. Derek left his trash for housekeeping, throwing a twenty down on the dresser along with his room key squaring things up nicely before he walked out the door.

Throwing his bag into the open top of his convertible, Derek turned right back around and headed straight for the neighboring door. He hadn't been sure if he was going to hurt the guy or kill him until the girl said she wanted to go home to her dad and the man laughed. That laugh had been a mistake. Testing the knob first, out of respect for the old man, Derek kicked it in when he found it locked. Rage and shouted threats flew at Derek well before the man was within arm’s reach. The second he entered Derek’s space Derek snapped his neck and the man crumpled to the floor silently.

Understandably, though annoyingly, the girl let out a low, panicked cry. The large, threatening man who bought her only wanted to use her, now she thought she was going to die.

“Quiet,” Derek snapped. “I’m taking you home to your dad,” he promised, holding his hand out for her to take. She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. Dark brown and too big, like Laura’s. He snapped his fingers impatiently. The girl responded to his silent demand, flinching, but making the mental connection somewhere in her broken mind that Derek wasn’t the enemy. He wasn't making her do anything, he was offering. “Hurry, get all your stuff. Don’t forget anything,” Derek instructed.

Carefully wiping down all the surfaces with one of the hotel towels while the girl ran around packing, Derek made a plan. An easy one, but it was something. He pulled the guys wallet out of his pocket, along with his keys, tossing the wallet to the girl.

“Keep it till we’re on the road. Don't touch anything, follow me out,” Derek instructed quietly.

The old man was standing in the parking lot right outside the girl’s room like he was talking himself into being brave and knocking on the door.

Derek handed the girl the towel. “Clean it,” Derek said, nodding to the truck. “Anywhere you might have touched it.” The old man watched him closely as he instructed the girl, waiting for an explanation. Derek pulled out his wallet, slipping a few large bills into the old man’s hand. “That’s for the door, and the trouble. You never saw her, she deserves to go home clean,” Derek asked, sure the old man had enough empathy for the small, red eyed, terrified young woman to do as Derek asked.

“Son...” the old man trailed off, his voice pitched with warning as his wrinkled, calloused fingers made a fist around the hush money. Derek was also sure the old man would have done what Derek asked for free, but the money made it easier because it convinced the old man Derek was willing to take responsibility, that he was trying to do good. “I’ll give you an hour,” the old man reluctantly promised.

Derek clapped the old man’s shoulder gratefully, moving quickly to help the girl remove any traces she had ever been in her captors truck. The girl was visibly shaking, nervous and terrified as she forced herself down in the passenger seat of his car. The fact it was a convertible, and Derek didn't make her put her seatbelt on, was probably the only reason she stayed in the car as he pulled up the road.

“Right or left?” he asked.

“Left. My step dad lives in Price,” she offered, her voice small and nervous.

Turning left, Derek made himself ask because he didn't trust the girls judgement. “Is he safe to go home to?”

“Yeah... yeah, he’s safe. He’s all I got left. I should have stayed.”

Her answer was brutal and sad. It was also the end of the conversation. She relaxed some when he followed her directions obediently as they made their way through the city and onto the next highway. Derek nodded silently when she nervously admitted it was a couple hours through the mountains still. Derek didn't care, he made a promise. He would have driven her back to New York if that had been home. She never said her name, or offered thanks, but Derek didn't expect it. She would think of him later and wish she had, but for now all he expected from her was to stay calm enough to get home. Judging by how close she held her small bag, she was barely holding on to the little bit of peace she had found.

Derek wished he knew how to make it easier for her. Laura could have, but Derek was afraid anything he said might scare her. When they pulled up in front of a sprawling suburban house a man peered out the window like he was trying to guess who they were. He was up early, but he wasn't dressed. He had coffee in hand and a robe on. He was older, he looked small, grey and kind.

“Give me that wallet,” Derek asked, finally remembering she had it. She had been carrying it in her hand, the one he couldn’t see on the other side of her bag, the whole time. He took the money out and pushed it into the front pocket of her bag. She opened her mouth like she was going to argue. “I’ll burn this. You never saw that guy. No one will give a shit about a piece of garbage like him. Say I found you hitchhiking. I talked you into going home. I wouldn’t tell you my name.”

“What is your name?” the girl asked, glancing at her stepfather hopefully as he called her name from the front porch.

“I’m not telling you,” Derek smiled. “And I’m pretty sure I convinced you to go home, so you’re not lying.”

The girl smiled back, her face suddenly transforming into something human, real, approachable. She was small with dark hair and eyes, just like Laura. Just like half the women in the world, but at that moment she was special. She hugged him quickly, throwing her thin arms around his shoulders so fast he wasn't sure it happened or if he dreamed it for a moment, then she was gone. He didn't wait, or turn to watch her reunite with her father. Derek clenched his jaw and drove away, warding off everything threatening to infiltrate his cold, calculating purpose. He didn't feel anything for the girl, he couldn’t. He lived by a standard of decency was all. He fixed things, like he and Laura did before. He didn’t help because he needed or expected any kind of reward.


	3. Mirrored Sunglasses and a Wicked Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not a nice guy,” he warned.

Flashy classic and modern cars dotted parking lots along highway 80, proving the old man right about the racers being in town. Certain he was blending in with the regular Bonneville crowd, Derek took the main highways through towns, unconcerned about being seen after he spotted another red Camaro. If the old man bothered to give an accurate description of Derek’s car, no one would instantly assume his was it. They would wait, question, give Derek time to leave or convince them he was not who they were looking for, but Derek doubted the old man would give him up to the police. He doubted the police would care that much about the dead guy to begin with, considering men like that made enemies a lot more often than they made friends.

Needing to stop for gas, Derek cautiously pushed it to the next station, not wanting to stop at a busy place in town with video security and lots of eyes to catalogue his car and his face. He ran it to the red line before pulling his car into a mom and pop gas station that catered to the racers on the way to the salt flats. It was too early in the morning to be busy that far out. There was only one person inside the store besides the clerk, probably the attendant. Though, Derek wasn't sure if you could pump your own gas in Utah. Not caring, he set up the pump and left it to fill, going inside to pay before the attendant could come out.

Familiar sharp, amber eyes peered at him over a candy display. Derek met the guys curious gaze with a hard, unwelcome stare. He wanted the kid to know he wasn't a mark. He had obviously left the flannel wearing trucker behind even though he didn't have a car, and he was a long ways from anywhere busy enough to be picky about victims. The kid could wait for the next stupid asshole looking to play the game.

“Fill on two,” Derek said, nodding to the woman behind the counter. He waited there, not wanting to give the young man an opportunity to attempt to engage him. “Hows things?” Derek asked the clerk, looking to keep himself busy.

“Good,” the clerk smiled, watching him with hopeful eyes. At the very least she would be easy to talk to because she liked what she saw.

Derek glanced up at the movement in the round security mirror above the counter. The guy immediately responded to the clerk’s distraction, moving down the aisle, slipping things into his bag with a deft hand. He either had natural proficiency, or years of practice. Only the smooth, near invisible flexing of the guys shoulder muscle gave his true actions away.

Assisting was much different than being a mark. The kid was probably just looking for a meal, and Derek could respect that. Making eye contact with the clerk, wrapping his hands around his edge of the counter and locking his arms, he swayed slightly. The flirty action forced the woman’s eyes to his arms, then down to his stomach where a sliver of skin peeked out above his waistband where his tee shirt rode up.

“Been on the road a while, but I bet you get a lot of guys in here saying that,” Derek said, smiling softly at the clerk.

Her eyes lit up, taking in his cute, juvenile way of getting her attention. He was a big guy, but women like the clerk liked it when he acted like he was young. She was skirting on middle aged, pretty enough, but over made. Thick gold eyeshadow, too much hair spray and shiny acrylic nails spoke volumes about how bored and single she was. She wanted young because she was still trying to be young. Women like the clerk fantasized about some nice, hot guy picking them up at work, that’s why she put so much effort into her appearance. A woman in a place like this could have her pick of a lot of men, most of them not that young, or that kind. He could easily make himself exactly what she was looking for.

“I -- uh -- no, we don't get a lot of guys in here like you,” she said, emphasizing the ‘you’ in her answer.

“Really? I’d think guys like me were a dime a dozen around these parts.” Derek smiled, but kept it from engulfing his eyes, like he couldn’t take them off her.

Glancing up at the mirror he watched the guy move through the store silently. Surprisingly the guy glanced up and met Derek’s eyes, smiling before he moved on quickly, like he anticipated the check in. The clerk took the bait, telling Derek about all the boring, creepy, and unsavory people that came through. She kept going after she had made her point because Derek nodded, responding like he was invested in her attention. Derek could care less about the clerk, he was invested in the sudden informed partnership that was created the moment the guy smiled at Derek and went back to stealing half the contents of the store, certain Derek would cover for him.

“You ever see any crazy cars come through here? My uncle told me people sometimes bring weird stuff to race, not like my boring domestic muscle car out there,” Derek pointed toward his Camaro and the woman turned, looking his car out the window. Pulling a pair of shiny, mirrored sunglasses off the rack, Derek dropped them on his boot to muffle the noise, then shuffled them to the floor.

“Oh, that’s a nice car. I love Camaros,” the girl exclaimed, talking too loud to hear the soft clatter of the sunglasses.

“I’m thinking about racing her, but I’m not sure. I’m a pretty decent mechanic, but I don't have nitrous or anything. I think they all have that,” Derek said, moving toward the display of  
road snacks, neat little bags of nuts and candy with striped red labels that were in every gas station convenience store in America. “Have you ever raced?” he asked.

“They have a nitrous free racing, and American Classics division too I think,” the clerk said hopefully. “I’ve never raced, I’ve watched a lot though.”

Eyes darting to Derek quickly, the guy dropped behind an aisle, probably to pocket something big.

“I bet you know the best place to get breakfast around here?” Derek smiled.

The woman nodded enthusiastically. “Margies, just a few miles east of here. They have omelettes and pancakes to die for. The best in town,” the woman gestured wide with her hands, entirely fixated on him.

Small talk about food was easy. Everyone loved talking about their favorite places to eat. Flirting with a hot stranger was what really pushed her over the edge. The clerk’s eyes followed him relentlessly as she talked. Derek wandered slowly around the store, picking up orange juice and a bag of peanuts. He made his way to the counter right behind the guy, who glanced over at Derek as he fumbled for a couple wadded bills to pay for a soda, his over stuffed bag on the floor at his feet. Derek smiled at the clerk again as the guy bent down and slipped the sunglasses into his bag, masking the motion by picking up his backpack seamlessly.

“Thanks,” the guy said to the clerk with a smooth, confident voice.

She nodded, then reached out for Derek’s items. He watched the guy over the clerk’s shoulder as he headed straight for Derek’s car. He pulled the nozzle out of the gas tank and screwed on the cap deftly, like he had done it before. Derek paid, promising to come back later in the day when he raced his tank empty. The guy leaned against the pump looking expertly disinterested, waiting for Derek patiently.

“Pretty smooth, bro,” the guy said as Derek approached, but he wasn't smiling.

Derek didn't respond. Instead he slipped into the drivers seat of the Camaro and turned the engine over. The guy fished in his bag and pulled out the sunglasses, holding them out for Derek like a peace offering. He took them from the kids long, thin fingers, finally noticing how the kids veiny, muscled hands and forearms made him look older, and dangerous. They displayed the guys wear and tear better than his large eyes and beautifully complicated mouth that always looked like it was on the brink of frowning or smiling.

A flash of pain played across the guys face as he dropped his hand. For the briefest moment he looked broken, vulnerable, too young. Just like the girl Derek had dropped off not that long ago. The look vanished as fast as it came, proving it’s authenticity. A hard, unchanging expression watched Derek’s fingers as he broke the tag on the sunglasses and slipped them on. Derek had respect for the kid. He didn’t even attempt to play a player even though his options were incredibly limited this far out of town under the watchful eye of the store clerk. If the kid had tried to pull anything on him, Derek would have left him, but the respect provided an opportunity for the both of them.

“Where you headed?” Derek asked.

“Nowhere,” the guy answered flatly, without hesitation.

“You do pretty good out here?” Derek asked, feeling the kid out.

“Usually better, but I overestimated the average intelligence of your fellow drivers,” the guy answered, this time a bitter edge crept into his voice. He was angry about being hurt, he hadn’t expected to be. The kid disdained violence, probably worked hard to avoid it.

Good, so did Derek. “Not a driver, just happen to be using the same highway. I’m headed to the Pacific Northwest, if you’re interested,” Derek offered.

“Lumberjacks and hippies?” the kid asked, cracking a grin.

“Foodies and coffee, Portland,” Derek corrected.

“Liberal mecca, you don't look like the type. You’re more of a Mets and draft beer kinda guy,” the kid informed him, pegging Derek’s personality far too much efficiently.

“Get in, Boy Wonder,” Derek nodded, putting his hand of the gear shifter to make it clear he meant for the kid to hurry.

Jerky, aborted movements made it obvious the kid had hurt his right arm somewhere pretty badly, but Derek couldn’t pay attention to that until they were further away.

A few miles down the road the guy started talking. “My name is Stiles.”

“Derek,” he answered, not willing to make anymore conversation than the kid demanded. People like Stiles didn't need more fuel.

“Huh, you aren't going to ask if my name is real?” Stiles grinned, like he was genuinely amused.

“Don’t care as long as you answer to it.” . It was the kid’s business, not Derek’s.

“I’m legal, just in case --”

“Don’t care, but I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t already know you were around twenty,” Derek said, interrupting Stiles before he could say anything remotely awkward.

“Nineteen... I’m nineteen. You don’t ask the usual questions?” Stiles asked.

“I rarely ask questions, ever,” Derek assured him.

“Can I ask you questions?” Stiles asked, sounding too comfortable already.

Normally Derek would tell the kid to fuck off, but he wanted the guys help, a little. Genuinely endearing himself to Stiles was probably the only reason the kid might talk about his grifts. That and money, but Derek had to ease his way into that or Stiles would likely bolt. No one stealing a meal from a gas station would take being paid well. They would try to get what they could and run. Derek could suffer a few questions. He knew how to not answer the ones he didn't want to.

“Sure. I’m game. Ask."

“How old are you?”

“26.”

“Brooklyn?”

“Yes.”

“Your car or stolen?”

“Mine, now.”

“Mets or Sox?”

“Mets.”

“Thief or con?”

“Neither, thug.”

“Liar,” Stiles said, the smile in his voice forcing Derek to look over at him. He was grinning like he caught Derek, like he won something.

Derek didn't get it, he thought of himself as more of a thug than a thief. His answer was true. “I used to work with someone, we liberated things, but I did the hitting when there was hitting to be done,” Derek explained.

“That’s not a thug, have you been watching too much Sopranos or something? That’s protection, body guard, right?”

“Yeah, mostly,” Derek answered, wondering how the kid knew he wasn’t in the business of offensive head busting, only defensive. Most people couldn't tell the difference.

“Respectable work. So, what do you want from me?” Stiles asked, point blank.

Derek wasn't prepared to answer that. His idea was still so vague. He wasn't sure if Stiles could or would help him, if Derek wanted help, or if he just wanted Stiles to pick up where Laura left off and share his attractive skill set. Derek was fixating on helping Stiles already, but he needed to think more opportunistically. He had to hold on to that edge if he was going to figure out how to thread his way through the pile of fuckery in his head and come out the winner.

Derek couldn’t play a player though, especially not someone as good as Stiles. Derek wondered what Stiles was doing living on the road and not in some swanky, uptown brownstone liberating money from middle aged suburban investors like everyone else with those kind of grifting skills. Self worth or outstanding warrants were the only thing that usually held back people like Stiles

“Lost my partner a few days back. Shot in the head,” Derek blurted out, managing to keep his voice under control even though his chest ached and his stomach lurched when he finally said it out loud for the first time. “Not sure yet how I'm going to clean up the mess.” He tried to explain a little so it didn’t seem like he was looking for sympathy. He wasn’t.

“Fuck...” Stiles muttered, like he regretted asking. “I’m sorry dude, that’s rough.” He sighed, sinking into his seat. The tension drained from his Stiles’ shoulders like he was willing to let his guard down now that Derek had proven he was willing to be honest. “You don't have to say anymore. I was just digging to entertain myself. I’m not a dick.”

Derek nodded, surprised by how gracious Stiles was. His eyes were cast down when Derek glanced over, like he actually understood how ugly the situation was in Derek’s head still. Stiles must have lost a partner, or someone close to him maybe. His respectful silence spoke volumes about his moral code. Stiles had one. He cared about other people’s feelings, at least when he saw them as an equal. Derek wondered if that was how Stiles had gotten hurt. There were a lot of people in places like the salt flats that would hurt someone like Stiles if they were given a chance, and caring about people at all made you vulnerable. .

Eventually Derek caught the scent of blood, sure it must be Stiles. He was hurt much worse than he let on and was still bleeding. Derek kept his concerns to himself until they were well away from Utah, just in case. They were both silent until they were close to Boise. Derek asked if Stiles needed a break and Stiles nodded sleepily. He pulled over and parked at the far end of a rest area, where the trees blocked the view of his car from the freeway.

“Let me see your arm,” Derek motioned, making his intention clear before Stiles had a chance to say anything.

“I’m fine -- I’m not --” Stiles stuttered, alarmed by Derek’s concern.

“There wasn't anything wrong with it yesterday at the barbeque shack, and something new could turn into a pain in the ass for the both of us if you aren’t careful.” Just like Derek thought they would, his careful words made Stiles hesitate.

He thought about it, but eventually Stiles lifted his shirt and peeled off the duct tape, paper towel bandage holding him together. “I didn’t know if you remembered seeing me there,” Stiles said as he gingerly pulled on the tape.

Derek reached out and ripped the bandage off, making Stiles cringe. The unmistakable scent of infection filled the air around them.“Were you stabbed?” Derek asked, taking a good look at the gash that ran under his chest, across his ribs. It was shallow, but it was enough.

“Yeah. I didn’t agree with a dude. He pulled a knife. Unfortunately, I was too stupid to believe he’d do anything with it.” Stiles gestured to his splayed open ribs. “Another lesson: small knives might not look dangerous, but they are.”

“They’re always dangerous. What did the guy want that was worth getting stabbed over?” Derek asked, unsure what Stiles could possibly have that someone would want that bad. If he was transporting something valuable, Derek wanted to know.

“My virtue?” Stiles answered, laughing quietly like it was a joke.

Derek dropped the makeshift bandage in Stiles’ lap, both sorry and glad he asked at the same time. “I hope you hurt him,” Derek said.

Stiles’ eyes went wide, like he was afraid for a moment. The last thing Derek wanted to do was scare the shit out of the kid. “I did,” Stiles admitted, like he wasn't proud of it. “I’m not sorry either.” The words were genuine, but they came out sounding like Stiles was still trying to convince himself.

“Was it the guy I saw you with?” Derek asked, trying to recall the man’s face.

“No, that guy dropped me off at a truck stop in Ogden. This is a souvenir from the truck stop bathroom. I got a ride down the 80 from a nice guy who slapped this bandage on me when he found me in said bathroom, bleeding. I skipped out because I made him nervous not wanting to go to the hospital,” Stiles explained, being more honest than he needed to be. “Two nice guys in one day, almost makes up for the getting stabbed to begin with,” Stiles smiled softly, taking the napkins Derek offered from the glovebox. They weren’t perfect, but they were better than the soaked paper towels.

“No hospitals. They report stab wounds,” Derek said, forming a new plan, adapting.

It was difficult to be calculating when he wanted to make someone pay for the pain he saw in Stiles. It wasn't Stiles pushing him though. It was the memory of Laura leaking into everything. Derek had to ignore the urge to find someone to punish. The people responsible were too far away. They needed to go forward, no matter how difficult it was. He laid into the gas a little too hard as he pulled back out on the highway.

“I’m not a nice guy,” he warned Stiles, letting a cold, numb sensation fill his chest to suppress the anger Stiles story had accidentally conjured up.


	4. Prince Charming

Derek had fallen from heaven, if Stiles believed there was a heaven, that’s where Derek would have come from. He held the napkins tight against his skin through his shirt as the speedometer needle shivered around eighty miles per hour. Stiles had never in his life been around someone so terrifyingly enraged when it hadn’t been pointed at him. This rage was for him, because he had been hurt. Stiles understood grief could make a person do crazy things, but it was usually just a more extreme version of the crazy things a person already did. People didn’t change.

After walking around hurt and scared for almost a whole day, Derek’s angry white knuckles gripping the steering wheel as he scowled at the road ahead, made Stiles feel better. “I’ll fix it. I know how,” Derek assured him.

Stiles nodded, trying his best not to stare like a dumbfound asshole.

Gorgeous was a pretty good descriptor for Derek, and legit. Stiles wasn’t sure what kind of legit yet, but Derek wasn’t homeless and aimless, running roadside cons on unsuspecting travelers like Stiles. That was obvious. Derek had skills, and enough money that the cheap, mirrored gas station sunglasses looked laughably out of place. The soft black vee neck that clung to Derek like it was tailored to fit, and his dark brown leather boots that wouldn't last a day walking down the side of the freeway, but looked nice, spoke volumes about Derek’s lifestyle before his current crisis.

Crisis changed everything. Stiles was good in a crisis. Like now, he wasn't freaking out even though everything about the situation should have been confusing and promising at the same time. Stiles had been planning on seeing how far he could ride this opportunity out. How long Derek would be entertained by his company, hoping his injury didn't get in the way of whatever that entertainment might become. It made Stiles kind of sick to think about being touched in any way right now, but he had felt like this before. A few more hours of sleep, some laughs, sugar, caffeine, and he’d feel like himself again. And Mr. Perfect might still be here, if Stiles was lucky.

Now, Derek was taking charge, and Stiles was uncharacteristically happy to let him. Stiles knew honest when he saw it, even if Derek was some kind of criminal. Too often criminals were more honest than average people. That should have stopped surprising Stiles. He would clean out someone’s wallet given half a chance, but he hated hurting people. Average folks didn't seem to mind hurting others as much as they should. Even that guy last night that stabbed him, the sound of his knee crunching under Stiles’ boot still made Stiles feel ill. The guy was old, it took him a long time to get up and hobble away. Stiles wasn't sure if he permanently damaged his attacker, even if he deserved it.

Feeling bad about it would change though. The more Stiles hurt, the less the not knowing would bother him. In the end, if it got worse before it got better, he would probably be hoping the guy walked away cripple. Stiles wasn't kind like Derek seemed to be. Maybe that’s why Stiles was still stuck where he put himself three years ago, and Derek was someplace better. A kind smile got a lot of people a lot of places Stiles would probably never see. No matter how well he fooled people in the short run, he couldn’t hold on for the long con. He alway tipped people off somehow, made them nervous and had to bail.

Maybe it would be different with Derek. It felt different already and they’d only known each other for a couple hours. Of course, he wasn't trying to con Derek. The last person he spoke to so honestly was Scotty, and Scotty had been gone for a long time. Just the thought of trying to fool Derek made him feel like a dumb kid. He was smart enough to know you didn't play a player. It was never worth it, and far too dangerous. Usually he avoided guys like Derek because it was like swimming with sharks, but Derek wasn't trying to play Stiles either. That changed everything.

Smiling, Stiles recalled how Derek totally transfixed the clerk at the gas station. Even after he walked away, she watched Derek longingly, already pining for a dude she was sure would come back and whisk her away from her mundane life. She wouldn’t be the wiser, or disappointed, until long after Derek was too far away to do anything about it. Derek never had to think about it again. Unlike Stiles, who found himself running from his botched cons more often than he would care to admit.

“I’ll know if you fuck with anything, so don’t,” Derek warned as he pulled into a pharmacy.

Stiles held up his good hand, silently promising not to fuck with the good grace he had somehow managed to obtain.

Derek was satisfied with Stiles answer. He dug a phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “Can you look up vacation rentals around here on craigslist?”

“Vacation rentals? Like houses?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, cheap, usually personally owned, not totally disgusting. Private houses. A townhouse might be okay too, I just don't want to sleep where I can hear people on the other side of the wall tonight,” Derek said like idea was incredibly offensive.

“Um, yeah. I’ll have a look. You’ll call though, right?” Stiles was tired and felt a little sick. The last thing he needed was someone worrying and remembering his face for that.

“Yes, let me call.” Derek made it simple, but his eyes grazed over Stiles' face, building a question Derek might never ask.

Stiles nodded, pulling up the browser on the large screen of the smart phone. It had been a while since he had used one of these, but he knew his way around. Craigslist had hundreds of open listings. A lot of them were probably rented, but he took screen shots of everything on the southeast side of town that didn't look like a mansion. If the houses weren’t so spread out, and he had a car of his own, he would have just scouted which one was empty and broke in to stay overnight. Stiles had never considered vacation rentals like these. It was something to remember for the future. A quick stop at the library and he could have a list of places to crash that were safe and secluded, especially in the off season when it was cold and miserable almost everywhere.

A few minutes later Derek came out of the pharmacy and tossed a bag in the backseat. He slipped into his seat next to Stiles and held his hand out for the phone.

“I took screenshots,” Stiles said.

“Perfect,” Derek smiled softly in approval, his eyes fixed on the phone. An embarrassing surge of pride pulled at Stiles' chest. He wanted to smile or congratulate himself for earning Derek's approval. Stiles pushed the feeling away brutally, refusing to humiliate himself as Derek pulled a different phone out of the glove box in front of Stiles.

Calling one of the property managers, Derek sold a charming but clueless kid character flawlessly. “Yes ma’am, I do have a problem I was hoping you could help me solve. Me and my brother were supposed to check into this hotel and I -- well...”

Derek glanced over, giving Stiles an amused, uncomfortable look. Stiles realized he was probably watching Derek work a little too intently. “I don't know if I should say.” Derek continued, making the distracted pause work for him, building tension like he was nervous. “But they’re cleaning the hotel for bed bugs.” Derek lowered his voice just enough to sell it, then jumped into the rest of his pitch like he regretted telling the woman the secret. “We just need a place for a few days while we wait for our dad to catch up with us, then we’re headed home... Yes ma’am, it’s been just one surprise right after the other on this trip, but my dad -- he always knows what to do -- he said he stayed with you guys a couple years back and you’d be able to find us something decent.”

Instantly the woman was not only Derek’s confidant, she was also his savior, and her sparkling reputation had allowed both things to happen. The gossip was to distract the woman, so she would fixate on that instead of the two of them popping up out of nowhere. She would spend her time trying to figure out who it was that had bed bugs and how much business she could expect from the fall out, instead of asking herself if they were suspicious. If she never found out where the bed bugs were she would probably believe it more. People wanted to believe the worst of their competitors. It would become an unanswered conspiracy she would keep catalogued in her head expecting to find out the truth, someday. A two minute conversation and Derek had a potential resource for that would easily play out for days, maybe forever if Derek was careful.

Careful felt like a luxury to Stiles. Careful existed in his world, but it came well after survival. Stiles was heavy handed, ballsy, stupid, brave, all the same thing really. If Derek was like a long, graceful sword cutting through his problems unobtrusively, Stiles was a sledgehammer that knocked down the walls instead of building doors. He got where he wanted to go, but he could never go back to where he'd been.

Handing the phone back to Stiles, Derek pointed to the address on screen. He wanted Stiles to plug it into the GPS application so Derek could concentrate on making small talk with the woman on the burner cellphone. Derek was still laughing and talking a few minutes later when they were almost to the house.

“Yes ma’am, under the flower pot next to the garage door. And if we go out, we’ll leave the cash in the mailbox for you. We’re almost there. I hope we catch you. I’d love to say hello and thank you for saving our sorry asses,” Derek laughed, like he really meant it. Stiles heard the woman laughing on the other end of the phone, even over the sound of the rumbling engine. Derek said his goodbyes as they pulled into the long driveway of a huge brown house.

The neighborhood was the kind of place that made Stiles nervous. People that lived in houses like these were always suspicious and worried because they had so much useless, expensive shit to lose. One of the neighbors next door opened the curtain, looking them up and down before dropping it to go and call the manager most likely, illustrating Stiles' concerns perfectly. Derek reached across, opening the door for him. The sudden proximity, the brush Derek's arm, startled Stiles until he realized Derek was being nice, just because Stiles was hurt.

“Thanks,” Stiles said sheepishly, hoping he didn't flinch or look like he was afraid Derek was going to hurt him. Derek seemed unphased, so maybe Stiles had kept the panic in his head. “You don't have to --” Stiles started to protest when Derek reached for the bag between his feet.

“I got it,” Derek cut him off as he lifted the very heavy bag like it was nothing from such an awkward place. “You need help?” he offered, poised like he was ready to come around the car if he needed to.

Derek peered at him over the top of the cheap, shiny sunglasses Stiles had stolen for him, waiting for an answer. Maybe they did look good on Derek after all.

“I’m good, thank you,” Stiles said as he reached across and used his left arm to lift himself out of the car. He was tired, hurting and fading fast, but he didn't want Derek to think he was helpless.

Following Derek into the house cautiously, Stiles felt dirty and gross holding his still weeping chest shut in the middle of the living room. Everything was white and perfect looking. He was afraid to touch it.

“It's all yours too, make yourself at home. Washer and dryer is probably back there. We’ll go get groceries later,” Derek pointed down the hall to a room with open accordion doors. “Take a shower and I’ll fix you up.”

“I don’t -- that lady is coming by and I don't have anything clean. I should do my laundry first if I can,” Stiles suggested, not wanting to be wrapped in a towel, bleeding out on the couch when the manager stopped by.

“Yeah, sorry. I should have thought of that.” Derek shook his head and scowled, like he felt stupid. He zipped open his bag and pulled out folded white and blue things, holding them out for Stiles to take. “I’ll do mine too, just throw your stuff in the wash and I’ll start it when your done showering,” Derek said, zipping his bag back up and nodding toward the hallway where the bathroom probably was. Derek held a hand up for Stiles to wait like he remembered more, then rummaged through the bag from the pharmacy. “Scrub down with this in the shower, that will be easier,” he explained, handing Stiles a small square, squishy package.

Before Stiles could catch up, reeling from the tirade of decency and accommodations, Derek was gone. He vanished behind a door that looked like the master bedroom maybe. The white was a tee shirt and the worn, flannel pajama pants were blue. Stiles hated pajama pants. He felt vulnerable, almost like he was naked because he couldn't leave in pajama pants. He never took off his jeans, he slept in them. He had for years. That wasn't how normal people did things, and Derek expected him to act like s normal person. Shaking off the anxiety, Stiles brought the clothes to his nose, taking in the clean, lavender scent of whatever Derek had used to wash them. Stiles had to remind himself he could spot a creeper at a thousand yards. Derek was solid, a good guy, worth trusting for the couple hours it took to get his clothes clean.

After he finally convinced himself, Stiles had to ask when had his life become so fucked he debated the actual safety of wearing pajama pants for a couple hours while his laundry was washed. Probably a night a couple years ago, sitting in a laundromat in nothing but his boxers and a tee shirt, waiting for his laundry to finish. That night nothing had happened, foolishly convincing Stiles it was an alright thing to do. But the next time he tried something that stupid some jerk in a loud black car came in and hassled Stiles for being a pervert. He threatened Stiles, giving him ten minutes after his clothes were done to get the fuck out of his neighborhood. Stiles had to run to make it to the commuter train, which he boarded illegally in hopes of not getting killed. He was sweaty and stinking by the time he found a place to sleep that night, making the whole laundry thing a lesson, not a solution.

It was all conditioning. Getting used to it and adapting. The more like a street kid he looked, the worse people treated him, the harder it got to stay safe. Now he was looking at the small pile of clothes in the wash, ashamed of how dirty they were and how bad they smelled. He needed to put in what he had on, which meant wrapping a clean towel around himself, or walking naked to the bathroom.

This morning none of these choices would have been difficult. He wouldn't have compromised his safety. He would have washed what he could and moved on, not giving a fuck. But now he wanted to look like he cared. He wanted to adapt to his surroundings and the opportunities quickly. Move on unphased, like Derek did. Not liking how insecure and weird his own thoughts had become, Stiles forced himself to move forward and do what he wanted instead of what he felt like he had to. He dropped his pants, throwing his belt in as well, just in case.

The belt gave him pause. He almost pulled it back out. It was his mom’s, seat belt material with a Jeep emblem seat belt buckle. Someday it was going to wear out, so he didn't wash it much. It had been too long though. Much like it had been too long for himself. He looked in the mirror critically. His too long hair, darkened skin on the back of his neck and arms from walking on the side of the road with his head down. He looked young still, but he was getting wrinkles already. His forehead was creased deeply, and permanently from all the worrying he did.

Willing to distract himself from the internal tirade of dissatisfaction, Stiles remembered the square thing Derek had given him. Fishing it out from in between the borrowed shirt and pants, he looked it over. ‘Betadine E-Z Scrub’ the side said. Stiles recognized it from the drawers in the doctors office. Odd, curious things Stiles couldn’t help but look through when he was young and bored, waiting for a check up with his mom.

Wondering who the fuck this guy was that he knew to get something like this, Stiles read the instructions. Yesterday he had been grateful to the old trucker who taped him up and fed him. Grateful enough he listened respectfully to the man talk about how jesus could change Stiles’ life. The old man wasn't used to people sitting through it. He respected Stiles and his request to not go to the hospital, but he got nervous when Stiles didn't jump on the jesus bandwagon and start praying for himself and the old guy. Stiles had been too tired and worn out to play along, he just wanted to sleep. The quiet behind the gas station had been clean enough, a few hours did him good. Then the woman showed up to open and Stiles had to hide. He went in early, after she was done cleaning and setting up, hoping she was dumb enough to con, but she watched him like a hawk until Derek showed up.

After he opened the package Stiles realized the betadine scrub wouldn't do any good until he washed off the first layer of grime. Finally jumping in the shower, marveling for a moment at the nice, lemongrass scent of the soap, Stiles cleaned up. Watching the dark water swirl down the drain, Stiles held himself up against the wall as his side stung from the water running over it. It would get better, or he would suffer through cleaning it, but he wasn't in a hurry. Being in this place was like being in a home, except the mini soaps. He hated motels and hotels. People were hurt and died in places like motels. Being far away from home made most people temporarily crazy, even a little desperate because they were out of their element and they felt anonymous. It made them do stupid things. Truckers were safer because they traveled all the time, but they slept in their trucks. They had their home with them, and they were at work.

Stiles hated the soap at cheap motels, always too flowery and sticky sweet. Truck stop showers had the same kind of soap, or manly scented things that smelled like cheap drug store cologne. Lemongrass might be his new favorite.

The novelty of being here proved how much he didn't belong in Derek's world. It was possible, highly likely Derek was just like Stiles in a lot of ways. Willing to do bad things, but only inside a narrow margin, a preselected set of acceptable compromises that caused the least amount of damage to the safest victims, but that did t mean they played the same game. Stiles never stole from moms, or old people. Middle class white guys on vacation, or traveling on business, trolling for ass while their wives watched the kids. Those guys were his bread and butter. He would steal wallets while he gave handjobs, or intimidate the terrified ones with threats to call the cops if they didn’t hand over all the cash they had. The weak ones sometimes cried, begging him not to tell before even finding out if he had a phone to call from. Which he did sometimes, if he stole thiers first.

Conservative assholes taken down by their own bullshit self loathing. They probably went home pissed, but thanking god Stiles didn't knife them or something, swearing off dick like it was a sin. The only thing in the world Stiles was sure wasn't a sin was sex. Anything could be twisted into deceit, but it was hard to share your body with another person and fake it. All the prostitutes he had ever known were either sociopaths or done with it in a couple years. Faking it all the time was difficult and took a lot out of them. Stiles was sure some people were good at it, just like some porn stars were, but they really enjoyed it. Then it wasn't a sin. Lying was the sin, not sex.

That’s why he kept his pants on and his dick to himself. That’s why he had a stab wound, because he was distracted, he hadn't slept enough. He was out of money, and he just wanted a booth to sleep in for a little while. The waitresses didn't hassle him if he bought a meal and tipped them well. He didn't look at the guy who propositioned him close enough, which was his first mistake. The second was going to the bathroom instead of outside where he could threaten, or yell fire and get someone’s attention if the guy was weird. On top of that, the guy was small. Stiles got complacent. The third mistake he made was over powering the guy physically instead of just running. Stiles had been pissed, and surprised. He punched the guy when he slammed Stiles up against the sink, insisting they were going to fuck.

When the knife came out Stiles thought it was a joke until the guy jabbed at him, moving too fast. Thankfully, it glanced off his ribs. Stiles swept the guy to the ground, angry, not realizing how hurt he was. He stomped the guys knee viciously. The violence he was capable of surprised him so much he stopped. Then the pain shooting through his ribs, and the panic of all the blood on his shirt brought him to his knees. The guy hobbled away, taking his chance while Stiles was down. The old guy found him later, horrified by what he saw, and what Stiles was willing to tell him. So was Stiles. Shit like this didn't happen to him.

He winced as he brushed the betadine scrub gingerly across his wound. The pain made him sick to his stomach, his heart pounded in his chest. He continued on until he couldn't stand it anymore, wishing he had pain killers or something. He decided he didn't need to brush it all out. The instructions said it had to work for a few minutes, and that would be good enough to disinfect. He left the wound foamy and sat down on the side of the tub, turning the water off while he waited so it didn't go cold on him.

Before Stiles had a chance to come down from the pain, a faint knock sounded on the door. “You okay?” Derek asked from the other side.

“I’m fine, can you tell me when it’s been three minutes?” Stiles asked, hoping Derek didn't notice the strain in his voice.

“Yeah, sure,” Derek answered quietly.

It was weird, Derek checking on him to begin with. Normal people didn't do that. They waited to see what happened then whatever took the least amount of effort. Stiles ran his nails over the scrub brush absently, then marveled at the soft plastic bristles, how they managed to penetrate the tiny spaces and make everything clean. When Derek knocked lightly on the door a while later, Stiles’ fingernails had never been cleaner. There was something deeply satisfying about the perfect, pink half moons all lined up in a row. Grabbing a washcloth off the shelf, Stiles got back in the shower to rinse off and scrubbed every inch of his skin until it was pink and fevered looking.

Somehow he felt new, like he was baptized. The last time he actually cared about how clean he was, was when he lived with Scotty. That was a long time ago. Stiles never wanted Scotty to think he was too depressed to take care of himself. Stiles could, he did take care of himself, just not like he probably should when he had no one to answer to.

It took heroic effort to pull the pajama pants on. He hadn't eaten in Derek’s car because Derek didn't eat his snacks, so Stiles hadn’t either, even though he was starving. The last thing he needed to do was get chocolate frosting on the pristine interior of the Camaro right after meeting Derek. Stiles was worn too thin and the pain was working against him in a bad way. The long, pink trail of fluid running down his stomach, still seeping from his side told him he had to go get it fixed before he slept. Not optional. Tucking a washcloth against the wound, Stiles threw the tee shirt over his shoulder and opened the bathroom door.

The washing machine was already going, just like Derek promised. Derek was standing at the bar that separated the kitchen and the living room, counting a pile of bills. He stuffed them into an envelope and marked the front for the rental manager.

“How much is it?” Stiles asked. Shame motivated his question just as much as curiosity, Stiles hated being a leech.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek answered, not looking up.

“I can take care of myself,” Stiles challenged, realizing too late the statement was missing a few key points. Like how he would take care of himself, or how Derek had never insinuated he couldn’t.

Derek looked up at him sharply, his expression softening like he pitied Stiles. “Go lay down on the couch,” Derek insisted.

“Not until you tell me how much,” Stiles demanded. Mostly because he was a stubborn, stupid bastard that took everything far too personally.

“A thousand eight hundred for five nights.” Derek looked up at him, his eyebrows raised like he was challenging Stiles to argue or protest. “I figure it’ll take you that long to feel like traveling again, and at least that long for you to teach me how to stay off the grid. As you can see this is as far off as I really know how to get.”

Derek's proposition turned the ridiculous, ego driven exchange on its head. It wasn't if Stiles was going to pay it back, it was how he was willing to do so. Asking Stiles to spill his secrets was a much bigger deal than asking him to come up with nine hundred dollars. Suddenly five nights in a quiet suburban neighborhood, and a pretty face to look at wasn't nearly enough. Stiles narrowed his eyes, and Derek dropped his, like he knew what he was asking was too much. People like them didn't share secrets with people they didn't trust explicitly. Sharing how he did things would mean Derek would be able find him if he left, which Stiles was not willing to risk. But Stiles knew a lot of ways people survived and stayed off the radar. Stiles didn't necessarily need to tell Derek how he did it, just how it could be done.

“If you call this off the grid do you also go camping with a satellite dish and a microwave?” Stiles asked, digging in the insult for his own entertainment.

“I’ve never been camping,” Derek said, like he didn't quite understand the parallel.

“City boy. No wonder.” Stiles made his way to the couch, letting his brain slowly file away all the new information. It told him a lot about Derek, and how it affected their current situation. “I’ll tell you shit if you tell me shit, and you have to cook. I don't cook,” Stiles demanded.

“Depends on what you want to know.” Derek didn't commit, but Stiles hardly expected him to. Even if this went well, neither of them would ever spell anything out so easily.

If this went how he suspected it would, each piece of information would be meticulously bargained for, which was fine with him. He was born to negotiate. Stiles might walk away with the sweet convertible if he played his cards right.

“We’ll see,” Stiles promised as he watched Derek scrub his hands down in the kitchen sink.

Next thing he knew Derek was sitting down next to him, but the world looked a little wrong, his head swimming. The sharp, tight pain that shot across his ribs every time he took a breath was probably why. He was out of fuel, only awake because he wasn't behind a locked door, alone. Derek reached to move his arm, to examine the cut again. Stiles must have looked like shit because the determination melted off Derek’s face like someone had slapped him.

“I don't want to hurt you. It’d be easier if you shut your eyes,” Derek asked. It was kind of a weird request, one Stiles would probably never be able to pull off.

“No,” Stiles answered bluntly, not having much left in the way of diplomacy.

Derek responded by pulling his long sleeves down over his knuckles. That also, was very fucking weird, but the moment Derek touched him, lifting his arm gingerly, the pain vanished. Stiles closed his eyes and almost moaned in relief. The sigh he made was bad enough. He contemplated forcing his eyes back open, but they were heavy like rocks and his limbs felt like pudding without the pain keeping him awake. The sudden relief, as good as it was, didn't make sense. Unless just engaging his muscles to stay upright made the wound hurt that badly, and Derek lifting his arm made everything relax somehow. It had to be it, or else Derek had some kind of magic powers Stiles didn't know about. The idea was preposterous and silly, but Stiles entertained the idea for long enough to feel ridiculous.

“What’s so funny?” Derek asked.

Stiles opened his eyes, drunk on exhaustion and relief. “You’re magic,” Sties blurted out. Regretting how stupid he sounded the moment he spoke.

“I am,” Derek nodded, confirming the statement like it was the gods honest truth. He was a better liar than Stiles realized. “It’s almost the full moon and that’s when my magic powers are strongest. So, you’re lucky in a way I guess.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” Stiles laughed. The high pitched noise made Derek stop what he was doing because it was a giggle really, not a laugh. It surprised Stiles as well.

“I can fix you,” Derek said, like it was a promise.

Stiles had to be hallucinating. His stress addled brain was rebelling, creating some kind of fantasy man. Prince Charming, the villain, and the wizard all rolled into one. Stiles had always liked complicated people. As Derek ran his hand up Stiles’ chest, resting on his neck like he was checking for heart rate maybe, relief rolled under his skin like waves of pleasure. Derek obviously had real medical training, that's what he meant. Maybe he was a doctor or a surgeon. He looked like an actor who might play one on television at least. He went back to work on the wound, tinges of pain breaking through the haze as Derek taped and tugged the skin closed.

Once his wound was closed the pain was replaced by a calm, safe sensation. Derek was alright to sleep next to, he was invested in seeing Stiles through this. He drifted off, dreaming about Derek sitting next to him, touching his chest and holding him safe. Kind of like he had been when Stiles was awake, but better. Dreams that good were amazing, something to hold on to and enjoy while he had them. He was almost ready to leave the dream behind for a deeper rest when hands touched his face, running over his skin and through his hair. The sensation was like pure bliss and love, slowly seeping into his skin. Derek's warm fingers burned some kind of promise into him that he didn't need to worry anymore, everything would be okay. Stiles wished it was real, that someone could give him someone that good in real life.

Drifting into a deep, restful blackness, Stiles thought for a moment he might sleep well tonight. Until cold, hard teeth rested against his neck, promising to crush and break him to pieces. The wild thing that loomed over him looked like a monster, but the glowing red eyes were familiar, like nightmares he had when he was a kid. Being aware it was a dream made it worse. He shouted and struggled to wake himself as the monster got closer, it’s mouth hot and wet against Stiles’ neck. He pushed it away, screaming, but it wouldn't go and he couldn't move. A giant clawed hand rested against his chest, pushing him down, forcing the breath out of him. It let go and Stiles dragged air in, gasping and coughing as the room came to life around him.

Arms were wrapped around his chest, holding him close, too tight like the clawed hand. He didn't recognize the house, didn't know where he was. He struggled, trying to pull the arms away, but they were solid and unmoving. Horrible noises poured from his chest, unintelligible sounds and words, like he had no control over the terror that Stiles was sure was his, but felt like it belonged to someone else. His dad would know, Stiles needed his dad.

“Stiles, your dad isn’t here. You’re okay,” the voice spoke firmly, it belonged to the arms that held him.

Derek. Stiles remembered Derek.

“No, no,” Stiles protested, helpless humiliation crashing over him like a wave as he remembered who and where he was. Derek let him go and Stiles tried to scramble away, pushing himself up. Derek helped him, righted him so he was sitting and in full control of himself. “Get your fucking hands off me,” Stiles snapped, pushing Derek away.

“I’m sorry. Stiles, your cut -- I didn’t --” Derek held his hands out, palms open like he wanted Stiles to listen, to believe him.

“Okay, alright, just back off,” Stiles warned, well aware of how fucked up he still was and how much the pain was suddenly coming to life in his chest, like it was rebelling against sitting upright. The wound seared and burned, aching like it was new and angry. “Oh, god.” Stiles fell back over, not caring anymore how bad he looked, not when Derek was watching him like all he wanted to do was make it better.

“Lay on your stomach and relax.” Derek’s words were quiet, but they were a command, not a suggestion.

Stiles fell over on his stomach and Derek pushed him down the rest of the way, like he was making sure Stiles was really relaxed. The pain vanished again as he let himself go against the couch cushions. It really did only hurt when he was struggling against it. Derek knew that, he was only trying to help.

“Sorry about the nightmare thing,” Stiles blurted out, his mind much more acutely aware of what had just transpired without all the pain interfering. The window on the other side of the kitchen was dark, and so was most of the house. “It’s late?” Stiles asked.

“Two in the morning,” Derek answered.

“I’m sorry, I probably woke you.” Stiles lifted his arm, stopping suddenly because he expected pain, but there wasn't any. Cold wetness stuck to his arm uncomfortably though.

“Let me change that.” Derek let go of him and pointed to the bandage.

Aching hurt throbbed back into his ribs along with his heavy heart beat. Stiles tried to relax enough to make the pain go away again, but it was like the tension was building and it wouldn't stop.

Peeling back the soaked, ugly pink gauze, Derek let Stiles take a look at his handiwork. A dozen strips of medical tape crossed over his wound, twisted in the middle to keep from sticking, like butterfly bandages. Rows of tape held the ends in place, like a latticework of adhesive holding him together. Derek knew what he was doing. The bandage was better than a feeling, it was proof. Stiles let go and relaxed into the couch even though it didn't help the pain anymore until Derek started working to replace the gauze. Then drowsiness crept in on him again. His stomach growled loudly, making his eyes open until the hunger pain subsided. Drifting off again, Stiles heard Derek moving around, something Stiles didn't dare attempt. Every time he moved pain would flood his body again relentlessly.

“I’m only good at breakfast,” Derek’s voice broke through the half sleep, along with his hands on Stiles shoulders, dragging him upright again. “Don’t bitch. It’s not fancy and I’m not letting you eat junk. Plain food till you're better,” Derek’s grumpy sounding demands almost inspired him to rebel until he caught sight of the giant pile of scrambled eggs and toast. “Here.” Derek pushed at his arm, shoving the plate in his right hand, then sitting down right next to Stiles, leaning into him like some kind of crutch.

Not hurting, and being able to eat by himself was a good enough reason to use Derek like a giant wall to keep himself upright and anchored in place. Stiles dug into the plate of eggs viciously, which didn't seem to phase Derek at all. When he was finished Derek took the plate and dropped it in the kitchen sink, running water over it quickly before talking to Stiles over the bar.

“I got groceries, lots. Have anything you want. You need to eat a lot and sleeps lot for a while. There’s pain killers in your room, just Tylenol. I need to go to bed,” Derek said, scowling like Stiles had done something wrong.

“Did the manager stop by, was everything... “ Stiles trailed off, looking for something to ask or say to test Derek, to see if he really was as angry as he looked.

“Yeah. I put a blanket over you and she said it was lucky you could sleep so soundly.” The edge of Derek’s lip curled into a thin half smile. He came around the bar and helped Stiles to his feet. “Do you need help to your room?” Derek asked, obviously not angry with him, but still scowling.

He was tired. Stiles had probably kept him awake for hours and the guy was just tired.

“I’m fine, thanks. Get some sleep,” Stiles said softly. He tried to shake off the moment of insecurity, clapping Derek on the shoulder, urging him toward his room.

Derek's expression crumbled when Stiles dropped his hand, like Derek was hurt or too worried to leave Stiles behind. Turning away, Derek went back to the bar, making a show of cleaning to mask making sure Stiles got to bed okay. Stiles told himself he wanted to ask if Derek was okay, but the thought of curling up on the couch with Derek again washed over him like a wave of desire. The strength of it stunned him speechless. He had to walk away.

Pushing all the confusing thoughts and feelings aside, Stiles concentrated on getting into bed. Attempting to mitigate the pain as he lowered himself probably made him hurt more than if he had just dropped himself in and relaxed. The tylenol helped for about an hour, but it wore off too fast. Stiles was cold, he couldn't sleep, and he was miserable. His mind kept wandering back to the weird dream, how bad he felt and how shitty things had suddenly gotten, except Derek. If Stiles had been alone he might have gotten sick or died from the wound before he went to the hospital, but Prince Charming was hell bent taking care of him, like he needed Stiles or something. It fucked with his head, made it feel like he and Derek were okay together. That made him think about how he felt. Like how suddenly Stiles didn't want to be alone.

Being alone was usually comforting, but now he couldn’t relax. The irritating burn of consistent pain and frustration eventually forced him back to his feet, cursing loudly as the muscles over his ribs protested. Stiles walked down the short hall, his head down, hesitating, thinking. He could always divert to the kitchen, try to eat again and mask his intention. Derek’s door was open. He had been attentive. He would probably come out and try to help, but something about the false pretense felt stifling and wrong with Derek. The open door stared back at him. It was an invitation. Stiles approached quietly, not wanting to wake Derek. As soon as the bed was in sight Derek raised his head. All Stiles could see was the vague, grey outline of his shadow moving, but Derek knew he was there.

Walking slowly, hoping Derek wouldn't tell him to fuck off, Stiles shuffled through the open door. Anxiety pooled in Stiles chest as he considered what he would say, or what Derek might do, but there was nothing remarkable about Derek’s reaction. He rolled over, pulling back the covers to make room for Stiles. Derek made himself comfortable on his side of the bed, like he intended to keep to himself. Stiles didn't understand it, but he was sure he would rather be anxious and confused sleeping close to Derek than anxious and confused in the other side of the house.

The moment he settled into the mattress on his good side, Derek’s hand reached out for his. Relief poured through him as Derek's fingers threaded through his, locking their hands together silently.


	5. Weird, Bitter, and Distrustful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title explains it all.

Having a weird, bitter, distrustful kid wrapped around his back wasn't so bad. The hyper awareness helped quiet the new, powerful energy coursing through him. Remembering how Laura dealt with it kept him calm and quiet, but it was like the frosting on the giant layer cake of fuckery life had suddenly become.

Not knowing what he actually was didn’t help. He was going to have to explain to Stiles once he cared enough to ask, but Derek didn't have any answers that wouldn't make him sound like a crazy person. The only thing he understood clearly was his need to protect Stiles. It felt like something inside him was constantly trying to claw it’s way out, and the only time it was quiet was when he took care of Stiles. Draining off his pain, soothing him, feeding him, all of it quieted the scratching, manic energy that refused to leave Derek alone. Derek was sure the only reason Stiles wasn’t running in terror from his new werewolf stalker was because he was too busy recovering. He hadn’t noticed yet how intently interested Derek was in him.

At least the scent of infection had finally passed. Derek wasn’t sure how close Stiles had come to death, but it was too close. Thinking about it made him nervous. Stiles was clean now, his body had fought off the rest of the infection after he cleaned his wound. The illness had almost unravelled Derek’s deep, dark secret. Derek wanted to tell him everything when he was fixing Stiles up on the couch. He said too much, but Stiles trusted him anyways, took what he offered, didn't ask how, or why. It must have triggered something in him, some deep desire to protect, like Laura protected him.

Derek always followed Laura, and she always protected him. Even when they thought they were human, they were a team. They survived on their own, together, long before their parents died. Peter told them all the time to take care of each other, that they would need family. Stiles wasn't like family, not like Laura was. He had no reason to trust Derek, and a thousand reasons not to. He shouldn’t be following Derek blindly, but Stiles was just a lost kid who needed someone to take care of him. Apparently, Derek needed someone to take care of, so maybe it would work out.

Moving uncomfortably against Derek’s back, Stiles took in a sharp breath. He was in pain, always in pain. The scent of it clung to Stiles, but the scent of Stiles hurting was still better than the cinnamon or the foreign house. There were too many layers of clothing. They needed skin to skin contact, but there were things he wasn’t willing to initiate, no matter how loudly his instinct called for it. Instead he shifted his arm back again, covering Stiles' hand, taking the pain and discomfort so he could sleep soundly. At least one of them could. Derek couldn't make himself sleep even if he wanted to, not after he woke up from the terrible dream. His body deformed and mangled, like he was more wolf than man, holding Stiles down, about to kill him. The idea of hurting Stiles made Derek sick and nervous.

Nothing about his sudden attachment to Stiles made any sense. It was like being held hostage by a set of rules he would never understand because it was all instinctual. Derek snapped a man’s neck only a day ago, and would never feel bad about it, but a dream about hurting Stiles made him restless and angry with himself. The only thing that kept him from running now was the truth that he would have chosen Stiles anyways, wolf or no wolf. Every guy Derek had ever been with was like a carbon copy of Stiles. Tall, lanky, wide eyed, bitterly sarcastic and guarded. Most of them had colored hair and tattoos. But in New York, that was how things were.

Rationalizations felt better than answering to himself why he fixated on the long, rough, perpetually exaggerated fingers brushing against his chest needfully. Stiles was still asleep, dreaming about something good from the feel of it. If he was going to survive this with his self respect intact, he had to tune out the sounds and sensations of Stiles. It took some time and effort, but eventually Derek nodded off. Luling himself to sleep with reminders that the attraction had nothing to do with reality, and everything to do with the fact that Derek was giving Stiles good, safe attention he wasn't used to. Simple, easy rationalizations.

A few hours later those rationalizations were forgotten, burned and obliterated by Stiles and his fearless hands.

"I should have asked." Stiles’ lips moved over Derek's neck as his hand slid up, inside Derek's shirt. "I know you like me. I can tell you want me. Do you want me to do more?" Stiles asked, his words excited and quiet.

"Yes," Derek answered.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, his voice sweet and pliant like Derek imagined it would be.

"Anything -- anything you want," Derek admitted. He didn't care, all he wanted was to make Stiles happy.

Like some kind of cautionary tale about a wolf in sheeps clothing, Stiles' fingers wrapped tight around the base of Derek’s neck. It wasn't meant to hurt, but it demolished any question Derek had about who the aggressor would be.

“Gorgeous, you know that?” Stiles whispered, his voice broken and rough against Derek’s ear. “I want you, right now,” Stiles breathed out, burying his nose in Derek’s hair, groaning in frustration.

“Be careful, you’re hurt,” Derek said, only half caring about his own protest.

“I feel better, and you’ll be good to me, won't you?” Maybe Stiles didn't mean it quite like it sounded, but the words struck at something long forgotten.

“I will,” Derek promised. Heat and need flushed his chest, crawling slowly up his neck to his cheeks.

Stiles moaned against the back of his neck. “You feel good, you're so good to me,” Stiles whispered, openly praising Derek.

Coaxing him to turn around, Stiles pulled on his shoulder. Reluctantly, Derek did as he was asked, afraid to find something mocking or dangerous. All he found was raw, unrestrained desire. Lips covered his, sliding, searching, pressing him open. Pleasure washed over him in waves. Kisses became reckless, melting any kind of resolve he may have convinced himself he had.

“So good, beautiful. You’re perfect.” The open adoration tore down all the walls he had left. Giving in to what he wanted, he dragged Stiles on top of him and wrapped his legs around Stiles’ waist. Sharp, honey brown eyes loomed over him, smiling, pleased. “Jesus you’re strong, that’s so hot,” Stiles said, breath coming short and heavy.

Derek stopped for a moment, checking to make sure the breathlessness was more from excitement than the exertion. Stiles lowered his lips grazing Derek’s neck. They locked over a soft spot, thin skin near the base of his throat. Teeth dragged, then bore down, sending a sharp, pleasurable ache through his body. It was like a jolt of electricity reminding Derek how alive he was. Derek rolled his hips, a long, needful sound escaping his lips.

“God, you’re so perfect,” Stiles said as he stretched himself out over Derek, locking their legs together. His hips rocked against Derek’s, slowly at first, then faster as he watched Derek come apart under him. “All the sounds you make. Jesus, I could get off just watching your face bliss out. I want you so bad.”

The flood of approval made something warm and flawless unraveled inside Derek, hitching in his chest like he couldn’t catch his breath. He wanted to please Stiles, maybe needed to. Sliding his hand down Stiles’ ass, digging his fingers into soft, forgiving flesh, Derek urged him on. Locking his mouth against Stiles’ shoulder, dragging his teeth across sensitive skin like Stiles had done to him, earned Derek a gasp, and more frantic movements.

Breaths drawn short and ragged, Stiles strained against him seeking more. Derek licked and kissed his shoulder, then the thick, soft flesh above his clavicle. Sinking his teeth in slowly, Derek almost stopped, sensing Stiles was close from the sounds he made. Derek’s body burned, his skin felt like it was on fire from the pull of the moon, the lust, and love. All he could do was close his eyes to hide the glow, hope his hands stayed calm. He kept his mouth locked on Stiles’ shoulder, it was enough to keep his eyes carefully hidden, just in case.

“Harder,” Stiles demanded, pleading and needful.

Euphoria crashed over Derek relentlessly. Stiles moaned, told him not to stop, urged him on. Hands gripped his chest, nails dug into his flesh painfully, making the pleasure more acute. He held on as Stiles got off on top of him, responding as much to Derek’s pleasure as his own. Touches softened, sounds faded to heavy breathing, and Stiles dropped against him, letting his weight go lax against Derek.

“Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?” Stiles cursed, forcing Derek’s eyes open.

Stiles ran his thumb over Derek’s lower lip, pulling away a watery red stain. He became uncomfortably aware of the taste of blood filling his mouth. Horror and disbelief destroyed the short lived bliss he had allowed himself. Derek tried to push Stiles away, but Stiles caught his hands, unwilling to let him. Derek froze, not willing to touch Stiles anymore than he absolutely had to. He had hurt Stiles, he couldn’t be trusted. He didn’t even remember doing it.

“It’s not bad,” Stiles stated, shifting his shoulder to get a better look at the bite mark. “Wh -- that’s fucking weird looking, but it’s mostly bruise.” Stiles wasn’t alarmed by the damage Derek’s transformed teeth left behind, but Derek was filled with dread. “Whoa, hey,” Stiles demanded his attention, touching his face lightly. “It’s not bad -- just -- c’mon, don’t worry. It doesn't even hurt. I asked you to do it harder, I liked it, okay?” Stiles laughed quietly, nervous, hoping his words would make what he saw in Derek’s expression go away.

Whatever Derek had done, making Stiles worry and feel bad about it was cruel. Especially when Stiles had enjoyed himself and didn’t know what to say to Derek, or how to fix it. Instead of letting Stiles fixate on his unhappiness with himself, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and pulled them both down. He settled Stiles close, so they were facing each other. Grateful to finally have the skin contact he wanted all night, Derek focused on helping Stiles heal and feel better. There was nothing he could do about what he had done now except what he was already doing. He would hate himself for it after he had done what he could for Stiles.

Unsure how running his hands through Stiles’ hair, and over his skin helped, Derek did it anyways. Stiles watched him silently for a while, he was curious, but complacent. Derek kept expecting him to resist more or question the sudden lack of pain, but Derek didn’t know what it was like to be injured for so long. He healed too quickly to do much more than ignore the momentary suffering. When he hurt himself badly he was so grateful Laura could help, he never resisted.

The idea of being alone terrified him. It was why he made his way toward Peter, who was only a ghost in a shell now. Still, it was better than having no one. Derek wished he was stronger, like Stiles. Out in the world for god knows how long, alone and unafraid. Maybe Stiles had people he could go to, maybe he didn’t, but he didn’t cling to the first decent person he found like Derek was doing. It ate at him that he wasn’t sure if Laura would approve. He didn’t know if she would yell and scream at him, tell him how stupid he was, or if she would tell him it was good to follow his instincts, that they were always right. She had said both so many times, and both options sounded like her, in a way.

“You’re not okay,” Stiles asked quietly. “Why are you not okay? I promise, I’m fine.”

There was no removing himself from the moment. Turning off his desires only worked when he had something to hold on to, but the distance he convinced himself he needed to maintain between Stiles and himself was gone. Last night he held on to the space, rationalized everything he sensed from Stiles, then built a neat little wall out of words like ‘unfamiliar’, and ‘stranger’ until he felt comfortably aloof. Butt Stiles wasn't acting like a stranger anymore. The fingers that brushed his cheeks, the leg that threaded between his felt too safe to be called unfamiliar anymore.

“My sister.” Derek let the dangerous words fall from his lips, stopping because it was all he could make himself say. His eyes locked on Stiles’, unable to give, even though Stiles wanted more.

“She was your partner,” Stiles stated, knowing, not asking. His hand traveled down Derek’s arm, picking up his hand and threading their fingers together. “Youre not a -- you’re not like me, are you?” Stiles asked, looking at their hands.

Alarmed by the edge of fear in Stiles’ voice, Derek followed Stiles’ gaze. He held their hands up, fingers threaded together tightly. Eyes fixed on long, vicious-looking, black claws. Frozen with fear and panic, Derek stopped breathing.

“I think -- I mean, it’s okay,” Stiles looked up at him. “Everything I’ve ever met with claws and fangs has either been really nice or more afraid of me than I was of it.”

Air pressed out of Derek like he had been kicked in the chest. Undefinable ache settled in his heart, stretching and burning as he forced himself to breathe.

“Please... “ Stiles trailed off, his heartbeat skipping and racing in fear, now, looking at Derek’s face. “Please don't freak out -- I mean, don’t run, please?”

Slowly but surely, Derek reclaimed his mind from the panic. Pinned in place by what Stiles asked him for, he couldn’t run even if he wanted to. The wolf part of him saw no danger. Feelings and desires weren't dangerous, loneliness was. Somehow the wolf was reaching out, drawing Stiles in. Derek wanted to know if Stiles would approve, and the wolf almost always found a way to get Derek what he needed. Stiles did approve. The scent of his excitement and fear filled the air around them. In so many ways Derek was at the wolf’s mercy, but it always took care of him in return.

“I would -- will you please talk?” Stiles asked, demanding Derek’s attention again.

“I’m sorry.” It was the closest thing Derek had to rational. He was sorry, for scaring Stiles, for being strange, for everything.

“Yeah, you have piles of shit to be sorry for,” Stiles drawled sarcastically, annoyed Derek wasn't saying better things. “How about you pretend you’re as smooth as I’ve seen you be and give me a fucking clue?”

He had to talk, but Derek was hardly smooth. Laura could walk into someones life, get everything she needed, and walk back out again without ever being noticed. Derek bowled people over with smiles and charm to get what he wanted. Everyone remembered him. He left an impression, and impressions were dangerous. Like now, the impression he was leaving on Stiles was something he could never take back, and he didn't know what that would do to Stiles in the end.

“I’m not sure, but both my sister and I were the same, almost,” Derek explained, unsure where else to start.

“What are you?” Stiles asked.

“My uncle Peter called us loup garou or lycanthropes,” Derek said, admitting his secret to someone out loud for the first time in his life.

“You mean like shapeshifters? Werewolves?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows drawing down like his curiosity was more important than the crazy words coming out of Derek’s mouth.

“Like werewolves, just not like movie werewolves,” Derek clarified. “Laura was different, more powerful. She called herself an alpha like a --” Derek cut himself off as the words started pouring out of him in response to Stiles’ open, intent curiosity.

“Like a regular wolf?” Stiles asked, wanting him to finish.

“Laura changed first, then a few days later my parents died in the terrorist attacks on New York City,” Derek explained. “We barely knew anything. My parents wanted to take it slow. They kept promising Laura she would understand. They wanted her to stay calm, but suddenly finding out the hard way we weren't quite human didn’t exactly help family cohesion.”

“I can fucking imagine,” Stiles said bitterly, like he actually understood.

Derek marveled at how easily Stiles accepted what he said was true, how easy and simple it felt to tell him the truth. Even if the story was a little broken and scattered. Derek reached out for the parts that were most important to him first, because that felt right.

“We didn’t trust them anymore, but we had Peter. He told us some things, said we had to take care of each other. We always had, so that wasn’t any different. He said I might not change, but I did a couple years later.” Derek relaxed into the story, letting Stiles think about it a little at a time so it wasn’t overwhelming.

“They were all like you then?” Stiles asked.

“I think so. My mom had red eyes, Laura had yellow. When she died Laura’s eyes went red, then when Laura died, mine did. I know that means I’m different now, but I think that means we all started the same,” Derek presented the information without any of the hundreds of crazy theories he and Laura had come up with over the years because he didn’t want to dilute the reality of the truth for Stiles. “I’m a lot more powerful now and I’m not controlling it well,” Derek admitted quietly, holding up the long black claws he never bothered to put away.

“You’re okay,” Stiles assured him, running a hand over his shoulder. “What were they doing in the towers?” he asked.

Derek suspected Stiles was distracting him now by asking him to talk about himself, but the confession helped him make sense of things, made him feel better because Stiles knew and accepted it. “Hale Law Offices. Activists, that what my parents called themselves. Really, they were fanatics. They put environmental conservation above everything else, even Laura and I.”

“What about Peter?” Stiles asked.

“Peter made it. He’s in a coma, but alive. Thirteen years now,” Derek answered, trying not to let the bitterness ruin his voice. “Laura and I were in school...” Derek said, even though Stiles hadn’t asked.

“What happened to you guys after?"

“We paid the door guy of our building to pretend to be Peter. They gave us his stuff when he went into the hospital. Roger, the door guy, he knew people that helped him fix up the ID. He let us be. Said he was worried they’d put us somewhere unsafe when we were just fine where we were. We went to school, kept the apartment clean, and he didn’t ask questions,” Derek explained.

“So you never got stuck in foster care, or hounded by the police?” Stiles asked. “When my dad died I had a social worker up my ass before he was cold. My best friends mom almost got arrested fighting the bitch to keep me.” Stiles sounded like he could barely believe the disparagement in their stories.

“If someone wants you that bad, why are you here?” Derek asked, unwilling to believe Stiles would reject love like that.

“Scotty, my best friend, got sick. They call it COPD, but it basically means he can't do shit without having a really hard time breathing, and I was never very good at being calm and quiet.”

“You could now, if you had to. Why don’t you go back?”

“I take it you’ve never abandoned anyone before?” Stiles asked, smiling bitterly. “You can’t just go back.”

“Why? He might be mad? Who cares. My sister got mad at me all the time. I got mad at her. We never gave a fuck,” Derek knew he was right. Human or not, it was the same.

“Maybe you’re right,” Stiles shrugged. “I bet you guys didn’t really stay out of trouble like the door guy thought, did you?” Stiles asked, changing the subject abruptly, grinning like he was sure he would like the story he hoped to hear.

“Two orphaned, super hero kids let loose on New York City. That’s what Laura used to say,” Derek smiled, remembering. “We stalked Times Square, running bad people off, and Central Park. We pretty much put the fear of god into any one stupid enough to cause trouble.”

“Most people wouldn’t do that,” Stiles said quietly. “Why did you?” he asked.

“Because we felt like we needed to. We saved kids from predators and everyone else from the horrible shit they used to destroy themselves. Everyone believes it was Guliani, the government, but none of that changed anything. New York was unsafe and scary for regular people. Stop and frisk laws never made real criminals afraid to go out at night, we did.” Derek sounded like Laura as he listed off their justifications.

"How did she die? Was she saving someone?" Stiles looked hurt and confused, like he felt the tragedy of Laura's death.

"No," Derek answered, resolving to be honest because Stiles obviously deserved it. "You have to understand what we did for a living. Saving people doesn't pay."

"I get that, no judgement," Stiles assured him.

Derek wasn't worried about Stiles rejecting him for his job, he wanted to spare Stiles the truth of her death, how horrible and useless it was. "One day Laura had a plan to get paid by one rich asshole, to steal some big painting from another rich asshole. It sounded like fun, honestly, so I said yes. We got paid a lot, so we took another job, and another, until stealing shit was basically all we did. Sometimes went out at night and knocked the right asses in the dirt just to remind people we were still around, but the city didn't need us like it used to. She took a job from the wrong rich guy and got shot in the head during the exchange."

"Did you kill him?" Stiles asked. 

"I killed all of them," Derek admitted, wishing he wasn't afraid to say it. He wasn't ashamed, but he didn't want to scare Stiles. 

Stiles drew in a short, sharp breath, but he didn't seem scared, only surprised. "I've known guys--" Stiles scowled and shook his head. "They killed a lot of people during wars and they weren't okay. I've also met people who killed someone and were okay with it because that person hurt them enough to drive them to it. I just want to know if you think they were all bad?" Stiles asked. 

"All of them, before and after Laura too. They hurt people. They were willing to kill and they weren't sorry." Derek could sense human predators, the ones who weren't built right. They didn't even know how to be sorry. "Except for one," Derek admitted quickly, before he could change his mind. "She was--I didn't get to her in time. They tore out her stomach, her face. I couldn't let her suffer when she asked...." He didn't need to tell the rest of the story. Maybe the girl would have lived if he had taken her to the hospital, but Laura kept telling him he had done the right thing. That no one survived something like that, even if their heart was still beating. 

Stiles reached up to touch and comfort him. He ran a hand over Derek's forehead and through his hair. Trusting Stiles had not been a mistake. “Are there more people like you?” Stiles asked, allowing them to move on from hashing out things that were painful for Derek to talk about.

“No, never found any,” Derek answered.

“You seem to know what you can do. How did you figure it all out?” Stiles asked.

“We learned about ourselves as we went. Trial and error.”

“What do you know so far then?” Stiles asked, sitting up a little so he could watch Derek talk more easily.

“Fangs, claws, my face changes too. The moon works us over pretty good. Strength, speed. I can hear the neighbors talking next door. I heal a lot faster than a human. I had blue eyes for a while and that seemed to slow down the healing, but the red amped it back up again,” Derek explained, gesturing to his eyes.

“The pain thing is you as well, isn’t it?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” Derek admitted. “Laura used to be able to help me heal faster, but it’s not working on you I don’t think?”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles cursed, his eyes going wide. “I kept feeling this thing,” he laughed quietly, his cheeks flushing pink. “It was really good. Really good, like how you feel after a massage?” Stiles said, unsure if Derek would understand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Derek apologized, feeling stupid for not knowing how things worked on humans but trying it anyways.

“Um, no. Please, do not apologize for that. You just --” Stiles laughed again, covering his face with his hand like it embarrassed him to think about what he wanted to say out loud. “Thank you for trying. It was good,” he promised.

Derek smiled and nodded in agreement, elated that Stiles was so pleased.

“What else?” Stiles asked.

“Lots of stuff,” Derek said absently as he looked over Stiles’ gorgeous brown eyes.

“Did I hit the wall? No more secrets divulged?” Stiles laughed, like it was ridiculous Derek was shutting him down now.

“No, I just don't want to talk about me anymore. We should talk about you,” Derek smiled, curling closer against Stiles.

“Prince Charming,” Stiles grinned, pressing himself against Derek pliantly.

“Thats -- don’t call me that,” Derek shook his head, unsure if he should be embarrassed or offended.

“I grew up obsessed with disney movies and fairy tales, so -- hey, wait a minute. You know how fairy tales work right?” Stiles asked, forgetting his justifications for the nickname.

“I’ve heard a few,” Derek answered, unsure if he would like where Stiles’ question was headed.

“I’m serious. All fairy tales are based in reality. They all have a real story behind them. Like The Little Mermaid, Hans Christian Andersen wrote that about a ballerina he was in love with who was marrying someone who made her stop dancing. Hansel and Gretel is about an actual serial killer who stalked kids in Germany. Vampires have, like, a dozen different versions, and actual real life instances of existing. One being pathological hemophiliacs who killed people to drink their blood because they craved it. Zombies too, they --”

“Stiles, I’m sure this would be fascinating if I wasn't the subject of the theory. Get to the point,” Derek warned.

“Werewolves are real,” Stiles said, motioning to him.

“Yes, but most of that stuff is garbage.”

“But which parallels are true? Did you test them all out?” Stiles asked.

“We -- no, not all of them. After a while it was just embarrassing and disheartening to read so much ridiculous crap. I mean silver, ash trees, rye fields? And the insane bullshit about it being a curse that makes women eat their children? How the fuck does anyone take that seriously?”

“You don’t, that’s bullshit, but you can tell. The truth sounds believable. Why do you think I’m still here and not running down the street to get away from the crazy asshole that picked me up on the side of the road?”

“Fine, why does that even matter?” Derek asked, still not sure where any of this was going.

“You’re on the run because the guy you killed has a boss or something, and you still have what you stole.” Stiles threw his theory at Derek like it was fact, but there was no way Stiles could have known.

“How did you know?” Derek asked, needing an answer.

“I’m smart. If you were just going to Peter like you said, you wouldn’t be nervous when you talked about it. Who’s nervous about hanging out with a coma patient?”

“I’m not --”

“Don’t fuck this up by lying,” Stiles warned. “You need to know what you can do. You’re a weapon,” Stiles said, gesturing to Derek’s claws. “Anyone is a weapon really, but you’re big guns. You need to know, and I need to know. We should figure this out.”

“Why do you need to know?” Derek asked, hoping Stiles didn’t intend on getting involved in his business. Derek wouldn’t let him, but he didn't want to argue with Stiles, Derek probably wouldn’t win.

“A bite,” Stiles said, motioning to his shoulder. Stiles was insinuating the bit from the mythology, that a person could be changed to a werewolf that way.

“No, that’s ridiculous. If that was true, there would be more of us. We’re born.” Derek shook his head. “Just like you can't become a werewolf by drinking from it’s paw print, wearing wolfskin, or by divine curse,” Derek assured him.

“Okay, but like I said, I --”

“No,” Derek reached out and dragged Stiles half on top of him. His hands and lips aggressively stopping the onslaught of deductive reasoning. He didn’t let up until Stiles was pliant, focused more on kissing him back than whatever was going through his mind. “Come take a shower with me, then you can go back to sleep. You need to get better, not worry about my bullshit.”

A long, exasperated sigh escaped Stiles as he looked Derek over like he was assessing how serious Derek was. Deciding Derek meant it, Stiles agreed to go clean up. Afterward they ate again and talked more about Laura, but left the rest of it alone. Talking about Laura made losing her too real. It was more comfortable to slip away from it, live in the unbelievable reality of being far from home with someone he liked so much, but Laura deserved better than that. He answered Stiles' questions and let himself feel her loss acutely. Stiles just listened like he understood and appreciated being trusted with the truth.

When he finally fell asleep again, Stiles looked peaceful, but mostly it was nice that he was quiet again. It surprised him Stiles wasn’t afraid to ask about Laura. It was good though because Laura would have liked that about him. Derek decided Laura would have approved of Stiles because he could be trusted. The scent of lemongrass and sleeping Stiles lulled him into a relaxed stupor that eventually melted into sleep. When he woke up alone in bed early in the afternoon, Derek couldn’t hear Stiles anywhere, so he got up and searched the house.

His bag and clothes were still in his room, but Stiles was no where to be found. Derek wanted to panic, but Stiles wouldn't leave his things if he was really gone. Forcing himself to remain calm, Derek looked around the living room again. It made no sense to Derek. Stiles shouldn’t have been able to leave without him hearing it. It should have woken him up. He spotted his phone out on the counter, but Derek had left it in the bedside table the night before. Swiping open the screen a note was right on top, open.

‘Be back later. I have my license, don't worry.’

Dropping his phone, Derek rushed to the window and yanked back the closed curtains. Stiles had taken the Camaro. The car, his road cash, fake ID’s, the diamonds, the wallet of the guy he murdered not four hours from here, all hidden in the center console. With all that Stiles wouldn’t have much need for the few things he left behind in his room.

Going back to Stiles’ room, trying to convince himself that Stiles didn't know, that he wasn’t some criminal mastermind that had just taken every resource Derek had on purpose, Derek opened his bag and dumped it out on the bed. All the junk food and garbage from the convenience store took up most of the space. A field journal and a pelican case with a sheriff’s star on it caught Derek’s eye.

‘Beacon County Sheriff’s Dept.’ the words were etched into the plastic of the case above and below the star. He flipped the latch and found photos, a few letters, all personal. Pictures of Stiles in school with friends, and on vacation with his parents. Things he would never leave behind. Derek put everything back in the bag, ashamed of himself for looking in the first place. He stopped when he picked up the field journal, leaving it on the bed as he cleaned up everything else. It wasn’t right to open it and read it, but he knew almost nothing about Stiles. He was good at evading questions, better than Derek even. Derek wanted something, anything that might make him feel better, hopefully stop him from running out of the house and trying to track Stiles down.

Cracking the book was like giving up on being good. There was something satisfying about it, even though he struggled with how far he was willing to take it. The front page had an address, so did the next, and the one after that, all names Derek had never heard. McCall, Stilinski, Reyes. Stilinski probably belonged to Stiles. His nickname was from his last name, not his first. The next few pages were drawings, doodles of ninjas, anime, and a girl. Her drawing was done with careful skill, unlike the rest of it. Stiles obviously liked her. His writing was small and cramped, like he was anxious when he wrote. Derek skimmed it, looking for themes and words, not specifics.

Afraid, hurt, always, sometimes, hate, need, hungry, all words that were repeated so many times Derek learned what they looked like in Stiles’ handwriting. He flipped to the last page written on and went back a little. The dates were weeks apart in the end, but the very last entry was the day before he picked Stiles up. Skimming it, Derek realized it was about him, how Stiles saw him at the roadside restaurant and what he noticed about Derek. Stiles ended the short entry saying he wished guys like Derek were interested in him, maybe he would actually consider letting someone else touch his dick if they were.

Derek put the journal back and set the bag on the floor next to the bed where he found it. He was hungry. Cooking would distract him until Stiles got back. Even if it meant he ended up making everything they would eat for the next few days in one go. A while later he sat at the breakfast bar with a bowl of chili and the news scrolling on his phone. The guy he murdered wasn't in the news, so they probably weren't looking for him, or the car.

When the familiar rumble of the Camaro came within earshot, Derek dropped his spoon and went to watch Stiles pull into the driveway. Derek’s chest flooded with relief when he laid eyes on Stiles, but it vanished when Stiles pulled in awkwardly. He parked canted at an angle that made it look like he wasn’t a very good driver. Derek got up and went to the door, alarmed when he realized the Camaro was inching toward the house still. Stiles wasn’t looking in his direction, Derek couldn’t tell if he was okay.

Walking to the car to avoid alarming the prying eyes of the ever present neighbors, Derek reached over Stiles and pulled the car out of gear. Red, bloodshot eyes looked up at him, pleading for forgiveness or maybe mercy. Derek didn’t smell drugs or alcohol, he wasn’t sure what was wrong.

“Brake, park it,” Derek instructed quietly.

Stiles struggled with the simple movements, like maybe he was sick again. Derek lifted Stiles out of the front seat and walked him to the house as smoothly as possible. He could only hope the old lady next door that was watching them assumed Stiles was an irresponsible drunk driver, or just sick. The last thing he needed was her calling the cops for suspicious behavior.

“What’s wrong? Did you do something?” Derek asked, dropping Stiles on the couch carefully.

Closing the blinds quickly, Derek waited for an answer as Stiles struggled to take off the white tee shirt Derek had given him. It clung to his clammy, wet skin, getting stuck around his shoulders. Derek helped him drag the shirt over his head. White tape covered the bite mark. Stiles clawed at it, his fingers clumsy, but he yanked it off revealing clean, perfect skin underneath.

“What the fuck?” Derek asked as he dropped to his knees next to Stiles.

“You were wrong,” Stiles stammered out painfully, reaching out for him.

Not believing what Stiles insinuated, Derek pushed him back into the couch, peeling off the ladder of tape and gauze keeping his other wound closed. The skin there was perfect, untouched, like there had never been a shallow, but gaping stab wound there. Stiles had healed the same way Derek could heal. He let Stiles reach out for him again, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ wide shoulders tightly as he relaxed against Derek like he was relieved to see him again.

Pressing against Derek’s shoulders, Stiles asked for his attention. “Car, go get --”

Giving up, Stiles fell over on the couch. Lifting his legs and tucking his knees against his chest like he was in pain. Derek ran his hands over Stiles face, but couldn’t feel anything besides the heat in his skin. There was no pain to take away as far as Derek could tell. Derek didn't want to leave him, but Stiles insisted, gesturing again. In the car there was a bag from an electronics store and a black bag with books in it. Pulling open the center console, exposing the hidden compartment above the transmission, Derek quickly emptied it.

Maybe if Derek was smart he would leave it all behind. Drag Stiles back out to the car and take him to a hospital. But the proof that Stiles was healing made that impossible. They would have more questions than they would ever be able to answer. With the car emptied, Derek walked back into the house, taking a moment to check on Stiles before he took care of the rest of it. He was hot, sweating, but he was sleeping. His breath was slow and deep, his heartbeat steady.

Removing the bottom drawer of the oven, Derek taped the wallet and cash to the back of the drawer. The soft black bag of diamonds he needed a better hiding place for. Curtain rods were hollow. Derek climbed up on the couch, disturbing Stiles, who watched him with hazy curiosity while he unscrewed the end of the curtain rod and rolled the bag into a long tube, the diamonds lined up inside. It barely fit, but he made it work.

“The diamonds.”

Derek wasn't surprised he knew what it was.

“You found my secret stash.” Derek smiled, trying not to look as worried as he felt.

“So much money,” Stiles laughed quietly, looking miserable.

“Why were you looking?” Derek asked, still unsure why Stiles didn't take off with what he found.

“Come down here,” Stiles asked, holding his hand out.

Dropping to the seat next to him, Derek quickly realized he couldn’t just sit next to Stiles. If he was this close Derek had to hold him, feel his skin and his heartbeat. Stiles was nearly the same size as him, but fit in Derek’s lap with his arms locked around Stiles chest to hold him up. Stiles tucked his head down against Derek's neck, blinking like his eyelids were heavy.

“I’m tired,” Stiles muttered quietly. “I had ideas. I didn’t want you to say no.”

“It’s okay,” Derek assured him.

Stiles went quiet, falling into a sleep so deep he went cold after a while. His heartbeat was slow, too slow, but strong. Derek forced himself not to panic because he remembered this. The same thing happened to Laura when she changed. One day she didn’t wake up when her alarm went off. Derek couldn’t get her up and his mother told him to go to school anyways. He didn’t. He snuck back in after they went to work and stayed with Laura and Peter until she woke up. She said she felt fine, but Laura was different. They didn’t know then what it was until their parents told them later that night. Derek laid down on the couch, keeping the heavy, comforting weight of Stiles on top of him, he covered them with a blanket and waited. That was all he could do.

Silence gave him time to ask how they could have stayed ignorant all those years. Laura was almost thirty. Thirteen years and they hadn't stopped to really ask themselves how all of it worked. They were too busy having fun and being cool to give a fuck about something like why. Peter was hidden on the other side of the country, so far away they had to forget about him to keep going. It was convenient to forget, but if they could heal, and Peter was like them, why hadn't he healed yet? Derek had asked the question before, but Laura told him to forget it, so he did.

Too many possibilities unraveled as he contemplated all the things Laura told him to walk away from, to leave alone, never think about again. She wasn’t being cruel or evil, she was doing what she thought was best with the power she had. Derek wondered what Laura knew that he didn’t, if he would ever know. Something more than just the color of his eyes, and his strength had changed. He questioned everything, more than he ever used to. The need for answers dug at him, wouldn’t let him sleep. It was imperative he build a plan of action, the desire to feel like he knew what he was doing burned like fire in his veins.

Part of it was the full moon tonight. It was coming, and it was long, all night tonight, not just a few hours on the sky like usual. It would be out before it even got dark. Not knowing how Stiles would change made it hard to prepare. Laura had been quiet, sinister in her viciousness. Attacking their father when he said something that angered her that first night, then backing away, horrified by her own actions. Derek had raged at everything. If had a pulse, he wanted to kill it. They didn't know if it was gender, temperment, or something more mysterious that made their reactions so different.

He missed Laura. A swift, painful ache hit him like a slap to his face. That made him stop, slow down and really think of her, with no end in sight. The agony of her absence choked him, made his throat tight and his eyes swim. He wanted her to help him, to fix all of this like he was sure she could. Laura wouldn’t be lost, she was never lost. She could make up a plan as she was speaking that was better than anything he came up with after days. She said it was experience , but she was only three years older than him.

They were a team. He never gave a shit about stealing things, or having fun. It was fun because Laura was there. He could have had fun with Laura playing chess in the park, but she didn't like doing that sort of thing. He always did what Laura wanted, he always worshiped her. She was his tiny, big sister, his hero. He loved her more than his own life and she was gone. She was gone forever, like Talia and Noah, like Peter, like all the Hales. Gone forever. He was alone and he was fucking everything up, dragging some poor kid into the middle of his suffering, subjecting him to his all consuming abnormality.

Laura sometimes didn't know what to do though, she just acted like she did. Sometimes it bit them in the ass, but she was smart enough to adapt on the spot, to come up with plans that were near foolproof. But what was foolproof in this situation? Derek had to take Stiles with him. If Stiles was changed, he would be unpredictable for a while, but he would also be powerful and just as smart as he always was. If Stiles didn't want to go, Derek wouldn’t make him. He would find somewhere to lock him up until he could come back. The shipping containers they used before were still there, still Derek’s property. Only if he needed to.

Eventually the cold passed, Stiles warmed up, but he trembled like he was sick. Derek didn’t remember that happening before. Derek tested his skin, pressing his fingers to Stiles’ shoulder to watch how fast the blood returned. His slow heart rate was the same as Derek’s now. Stirring, lifting himself off Derek’s chest, Stiles opened his eyes and looked around the room. Derek reached up to steady him as he went to move because he was still shaking like he was cold. Jerking unexpectedly, Stiles pushed Derek away and slid to the floor bracing himself on his hands, heaving like he was in pain.

“Stiles,” Derek said his name, trying to get his attention.

Glancing back over his shoulder Derek caught the flash of glowing gold before he closed his eyes and shook his head like he was trying to see or think better. “I feel... wrong.” The words fell from Stiles’ lips like ice. His voice was hollow, and too big for his chest.

“Stiles, tell me what you mean.” Derek held his arm, pulling Stiles up to face him. Derek didn’t let go when Stiles resisted.

“I want to... I don't know, hurt myself, or you. I want to -- god, I want to.” Stiles lunged for him, pinning him down brutally. Gold eyes hovered above him, claws dug into his arms. Abruptly, Stiles jerked back again, the pain of the first change stopping him from whatever he thought he was going to do. “Fuck,” Stiles curse, clutching his chest. “Is this a heart attack?”

“No, you’re changing,” Derek answered, shifting so Stiles could see what he was about to turn into. It was smooth for him now, the popping and breaking noises were dull and quiet compared to how it was going to be for him.

“What -- that, you’re... “ Stiles stared at him wide eyed, then suddenly lunged for the front door.

Derek was far faster than Stiles, especially shifted. Knocking him back easily, Derek felt bad for how confused Stiles was by how fast it happened. He remembered how infuriating it was to be trapped by Laura, like a cat with a mouse. She was so much more powerful than him. It took nothing for her to hold him down while he struggled wildly, cursing and shouting with his face smashed against the carpet. She was half his size, but she somehow still held him down effortlessly.

It was different for them, they didn’t know each other well. Derek couldn’t push his buttons or distract him. Stiles seemed to be attracted to Derek for a moment, but it was doubtful that would work for Derek while he was shifted. Shaking off the wolf form, Derek took a deep breath and pushed Stiles back down again, Straddling his hips, pinning his shoulders to the floor. Derek was still strong enough that it was easy, thankfully.

“Let me go, asshole,” Stiles strained against him.

“I can’t. You’ll hurt someone. You hate human predators. If I let you out you might become just like them, unless you learn to control this,” Derek spoke evenly, loudly, so Stiles couldn’t ignore it.

Stiles stopped struggling, but kept the death grip on Derek’s arms. “I won't hurt people. I don’t hurt people, not unless they hurt me first.”

How offended Stiles sounded was good. It meant he held on to the most important parts of himself, the human parts that would keep him grounded.

“My sister told me I would have to live with the memory of every person I ever hurt, that Peter told her the same thing. I’ve hurt a lot of people, and I live with that, but I don't regret any of it because I only hurt people when I had to.”

“I won’t. I won’t hurt anyone,” Stiles pushed against him again, angry and losing his hold on the humanity that kept him calm.

“How? You want to hurt me,” Derek asked.

“You hurt me first,” Stiles growled, his eyes flaring gold and vicious.

Trembling energy surged under Stiles’ skin as he finally shifted, a long, loud cry struggling to rip out of him, but Derek held his mouth shut. Stiles begged him with terrified eyes to let go, flailing and shouting behind Derek’s hand.

“Quiet,” Derek commanded, a little too loudly for the quiet neighborhood they were in. Stiles went still, his hand gripping Derek’s wrist, still trying to pull his hand away. “I’ll let you go when I can trust you. I know you have it in you to do this, even on a full moon. How good are you in a crisis? How do you keep your shit together? How much do you trust yourself?” Derek asked.

Each question hit Stiles hard, making his eyes narrow, even through the brutal, animalistic features twisting his face, Derek could see the gears turning. Stiles was building a plan to control himself already.

“You only trust yourself. You don't need anyone else?” Derek asked, sure those words would make sense to Stiles, even though they barely made sense to him.

Stiles nodded, his grip on Derek’s arm loosening.

“You will not hurt anyone, even yourself, without knowing exactly why you’re doing it, ever.”

Nodding again, Stiles let him go completely.

“You know the things you can't do. You don't need me to tell you, right?” Derek let his mouth go. Stiles could have bitten him if he wanted to, but he had chosen not to.

“I won’t lose control,” Stiles promised. His face retreated along with his teeth, but the long black claws on Stiles’ hands remained. It had peaked above them, calling, demanding their attention.

“You couldn’t control yourself before, that’s why you left Scott’s house, right?”

“I’m different now, I’m--” Stiles stopped, his mouth half open as the same intense pull of the moon that Derek felt washed over him.

“You’re what?” Derek asked, demanding Stiles focus. “Why did you leave Scott’s house?”

“I’m better. I don’t--not anymore,” Stiles stammered out, keeping himself talking, impressively. “Scott needed me,” Stiles said quietly. “Scott... Scotty.” Stiles repeated, like he was meditating on his friend's name. His body went still and his heartbeat slowed down along with his breathing.

Looking up at Derek, Stiles seemed like himself again, besides the bright yellow eyes that searched his face. Derek didn't know if he liked how sharp and present Stiles seemed suddenly. The shift was too fast. Stiles was getting there, but something had anchored Stiles down, fixed him in place like he was planted in concrete. Whatever it was had something to do with his friend Scott.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Derek insisted.

“I don't want to.”

“Why?” Derek demanded.

“Why the fuck do I feel like I have to?” Stiles asked, angry again, pushing against Derek’s hands. Derek let his claws sink into Stiles’ chest, just enough to warn him he wasn't going anywhere. “Stop, stop... I’m stopping.” Stiles took a deep breath, swallowing hard.

“You feel like you have to because I’m in charge. I’m sorry that I don't know why. It was the same with Laura.”

“Fuck. I don’t like how that feels. Not a fan,” Stiles spoke through deep breaths, his eyes closed.

“Me either,” Derek admitted.

“That’s worse.”

“At least I don't want to control you,” Derek pointed out.

“If you did you’d be better at it.”

“I'm doing this to keep us safe, that’s all.”

“It's... I guess you’re doing a good job then.” Stiles opened his eyes again, searching Derek for answers again uncomfortably. “I feel like I’m about to break open and freak out. I don't want to, and I -- shit, I used to be hyperactive and it felt like this, but not nearly as bad. I have to do something. Run or -- I don't know. I just need to,” Stiles spoke too fast, his hands running up Derek’s arms, gripping and testing his skin.

“It doesn't feel any different when you’re exhausted. You’re just tired on top of trying to control the crazy,” Derek promised.

“I can't take your word for it. I’m sorry. I just can’t,” Stiles apologized, shaking his head softly.

That kind of critical thinking meant Stiles was himself as much as he ever would be again. Derek let his shoulders go. Stiles sat up, his hands fishing under Derek’s shirt immediately, spreading over his back, pressing against skin. Stiles looked up at him, his bright gold eyes obscured by thick lashes.

“I want you, but I--I hurt you.” Stiles loosened his grip on Derek’s back.

“I healed.” Derek raised his arm, brushing away the bits of blood left behind from the scratches.

“It still hurts,” Stiles argued, unimpressed by the unmarked skin.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Derek asked.

"No," Stiles said, pleading with Derek to do something to make it easier.

"Then don't," Derek insisted. He shifted, rocking his hips against Stiles'. The long, low groan he pulled from Stiles coursed through him. A heated promise of something good, making Derek acutely aware of how on edge and nervous he was himself. “We can do anything you want. Think about that instead,” Derek offered.

“I don’t know, I’ve never--”

“No. Don't talk about it now, just do what you want,” Derek insisted, interrupting Stiles before he could say things that might make him feel worried or upset again. Stiles hesitated, like he wasn't sure what he wanted. "Do you want me to?" Derek asked, running his hands over Stiles' shoulders and neck soothingly.

Stiles pulled on Derek's shirt, lifting it up and over his head. He pressed his face to the center of Derek's chest, taking in the scent of his skin. “I’m so tired of feeling shitty all the time,” Stiles whispered, his words muffled against Derek’s skin.

“Don’t,” Derek said, pressing his thumbs against Stiles’ jaw, tilting his head back to see his face. “You don’t have to feel shitty anymore. You’re powerful and special now. You’re strong and you can sense things other people can’t. No one can hurt you like they could before. You’ll never get sick, or be lost again. You’ll have me, always.” Derek offered himself up, wanting to know Stiles wanted him as much as he wanted Stiles.

“Prince Charming.” The dark, needful edge to the words Stiles muttered made them less of a compliment and more of a curse. “Stuck with me forever,” Stiles said like he was challenging Derek to live up to his promise already.

“Want, I want you,” Derek challenged, pushing Stiles back onto the floor. He lowered himself to kiss Stiles, but felt him shifting just before Stiles rolled them over. Suddenly Stiles was aggressive and eager, fixated on Derek, his scent, his skin, everything Stiles could get his hands on. Derek pushed at Stiles’ pants, urging them off. “I want you,” he repeated, hoping Stiles wanted the same things.

Stiles pulled his wallet out and tossed it on the floor next to them then yanked off Derek’s soft cotton pajama pants, being more careful than Derek expected. “Why?” Stiles asked as he lowered himself to Derek’s chest and pressed his lips to skin carefully. A rush of thrill and promise coursed through Derek as Stiles settled against him, naked and willing. Stiles looked up at him again, the question still in his eyes. “Why do you want me?” he repeated.

“Don’t think about it,” Derek urged again, wanting Stiles to let the nervous, aggressive energy loose that he was holding back somehow. “Both of us do, just have fun,” Derek pressed.

“I’m trying,” Stiles said, like he was struggling with more than the change and the moon.

Derek wanted a clean slate for Stiles, permission to leave all the things behind that held him down before and held him back now. He didn’t want to use the sway of his words, experience with Laura taught him too well how powerful they could be, but Stiles was his to take care of now. Stiles wanted him to say something to make it better.

Gripping Stiles’ shoulder, Derek pulled him up and wrapped his arms around his chest, holding Stiles close while they kissed. Stiles was still careful, restrained and uncomfortable even though his hands held tight to Derek’s shoulders and his hips rocked against Derek’s eagerly.

“You’re new, you’re mine. You only do what you want now, only you,” Derek promised. His words made Stiles cling to him needfully, his hips sliding against Derek’s more frantically.

“But you, what do you want?” Stiles asked, his soft smile contrasting sharply with the hungry look in his eyes.

“I want to make you feel good, that’s all. Don’t worry about me,” Derek pressed, letting his thumb run over Stiles’ kiss roughed lips. Derek’s words did not have the desired effect. Stiles seemed to deflate, moving to sit up, his expression slack as if all the energy had been drained out of him. Derek pulled him back down, unsure what he did wrong, but sure he could fix it by giving Stiles what he asked for so many times. “I want you. I want your hands,” Derek admitted, bringing Stiles’ fingers to his lips.

The short, quiet gasp Stiles let out when Derek’s lips slid over his first two fingers, his tongue soft and warm, sounded like desire. He rolled Stiles’ fingers in his mouth then pulled them out, letting his cheeks goi hollow with a promise of what was to come, if Stiles wanted him still.

“I want you to say things--” Derek stopped, unsure of words were the best idea. Stiles waited, wanting to hear what Derek was willing to share. “Like yesterday, how much you liked me, how good I was,” Derek admitted quietly, the heated of shame and want flushing his cheeks.

“That’s what you liked?” Stiles asked, his eyes wide and curious, bordering on disbelief. “You’re fucking complicated,” Stiles muttered as he tucked his knees behind Derek’s thighs. His hand pressed Derek’s legs closed around his waist. “It doesn’t really matter to you that you’re in charge up here, does it?” Stiles asked, gesturing to his head.

“No,” Derek answered honestly, pulling Stiles down on top of him again. He kissed Stiles cheek and jaw, turning his head to get to his ear and neck.

“You want to know how good you feel under me?” Stiles asked, leaning in to Derek’s attention.

Yes,” Derek answered, closing his eyes against the raw desire that welled up inside him.

“Holy shit, why--your skin,” Stiles stammered as he buried his face against Derek’s neck. “Oh, god, you smell so good,” he said breathlessly. Derek threaded his fingers through Stiles hair and tightened his grip as Stiles explored further, his short, greedy moans giving away how much he was enjoying himself. “Open my wallet,” Stiles demanded abruptly.

Derek reluctantly let go of Stiles’ silky, dark hair and reached for his wallet. He opened it and found small foil packets and condoms in the bill fold. He took out what he thought Stiles wanted and held them up. Stiles took them from his hand, a knowing grin stretching across his face. He took his wallet from Derek’s hand and dropped what Derek gave him on the floor near them, then wrapped his hands around Derek’s hips and dragged him closer.

“You want my long, slick fingers inside you, don’t you?” Stiles asked as he brushed his fingertips against Derek’s lips again. Derek responded by holding Stiles wrist and sucking on his first two fingers again until they were slick and wet. “You’re so beautiful like this.” Stiles ran his other hand down Derek’s side, gripping his waist.

Derek released his fingers when Stiles shifted, putting space between them. His fingers settled against Derek, pressing slow, smooth circles. Stiles watched him intently as he slicked his fingers up and slipped a condom on, more interested in how Derek reacted than anything else. Barely masking his impatience, Derek stroked himself, the heavy pounding in his chest a symptom of the anticipation.

Sliding a finger against Derek, Stiles watched as it breached his body and settled in. He lowered himself again, draping himself over Derek carefully, seeking out his mouth. Stiles kissed him without restraint, his lips sliding across Derek’s, forcing his mouth open as his tongue drew across Derek’s needfully. The barely contained want didn’t extend to his hands, fingers sliding slowly in and out of Derek in a careful rhythm.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” Derek insisted when Stiles’ shoulders and hands trembled under the strain of keeping himself under control.

“Later,” Stiles promised. “Do you want me now?” he asked, his fingers pressing deep. Derek sucked in a sharp breath and moaned as his hands found tender, sweet spots accidentally. “Tell me,” Stiles asked, his face and chest already red and flush with need.

“Please,” Derek answered thrusting his hips after the fingers that slid out of him. Stiles pressed himself down, blunt and heavy against Derek. He relaxed and Stiles slid inside him with a long, shuddering gasp. “Oh, god,” Derek cursed, the fullness and heat of Stiles buried inside him made his dick ache to be touched, but he wanted the sensation to last as long as it could.

“I’m not--I won’t last,” Stiles said like he regretted it. He fell down over Derek again, tucking himself tight around Derek’s body. His hands slid under Derek’s back, gripping his shoulders for leverage. Stiles rocked against him slowly like he was afraid to move or waiting for Derek to get comfortable. Derek bucked his hips up to meet Stiles, eliciting a gasp and more shivering. “You’re so tight, and watching you--you’re fucking gorgeous. I’m not --”

“Just fuck me, get off. We’ll keep going,” Derek promised.

“Oh, god,” Stiles groaned, his hips thrusting against Derek in short, hard strokes. When he slowed down, gasping and faltering as he got off, Derek slipped a hand between them and pulled the condom off. Tossing it aside before reaching down to slip Stiles back in. He moaned and gripped Derek’s shoulders, still hard and ready. “We shouldn’t--”

“It doesn’t matter. I swear,” Derek promised, thrusting up against Stiles, urging him on.

“When we’re done like this, I want to watch you ride me,” Stiles whispered as Derek slid his fingers through Stiles’s hair, gripping tight as Stiles thrust into him slowly. Breathless, blissful noises poured out of Derek as pleasure rolled over him in waves, every stroke made him harder, wanting more. He let go of Stiles’ hair to grab at his knees, giving him better leverage. Stiles took his cue and moved faster. “Perfect, feel so good. Stroke yourself, I wanna feel you come around me,” Stiles said, sitting up to give Derek room.

Wrapping a hand around himself, Derek pulled gently along with the rhythm of Stiles’ hips. He watched eyes graze over him, stopping on his lips, his dick, then fixed on Stiles’ dick sinking into him and pulling back out over and again.

“Harder,” Derek asked, lifting his hips to meet Stiles.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come again just watching you move under me,” Stiles breathed out in a whisper. His hands pawing along Derek’s chest and stomach as his muscles flexed against the pleasure. “You’re so good, so beautiful. I love you like this,” Stiles professed in a broken voice as he worked into Derek harder and faster.

Moaning and straining against the oncoming climax, trying his best to hold it off, Derek trembled under Stiles’ hands. His neck jerked uncontrollably as he spilled over, euphoric bliss coursing through his body, loosening the tension all over until he felt like a puddle of loose bones and hard breathing. Stiles pressed his lips against Derek’s neck, his head arched back against the floor. He pulled Stiles down close, his hands clutching at his shoulders and back. Hooking a leg around Stiles’ thigh, Derek held him in place, still buried deep inside him.

“Don’t stop, tell me... tell me more,” Derek pleaded, the aching fire grazing his skin making him feel weak and vulnerable.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, pressing himself close again. “I’m so lucky. Good to me,” Stiles said around pressing kisses into his neck and jaw. “So beautiful,” he muttered as his lips trailed to Derek’s mouth. Soft, amber, brown eyes fixed on his. Stiles wanted to say more.

“Love me,” Derek asked, hoping Stiles would, hoping he wasn’t wrong about how Stiles felt to him already.

“I do,” Stiles confessed, a quiet moan vibrating in his mouth as he kissed Derek. Stiles’ lips dragged over his intrusively, his tongue demanding, his teeth pulling at Derek’s lower lip. Stiles kissed him like he didn’t care if Derek liked it, he wanted Derek to give in. “I love you,” he said like it was a threat. “You’re mine.” Stiles repeated Derek’s words from before. They settled into Derek’s skin, calming the nervous energy as Stiles let himself believe it.

They were already connected, empathy flowing between them like an open river of emotion. The energy crawling on his skin wasn’t his, it was Stiles’. It vanished as soon as Stiles believed Derek felt the same way he did.


	6. A Buzzcut and Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your hair is gone. Why is your hair gone?” Derek reached up and ran a hand over his velvety scalp.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered. Shifting his hips so he was straddling Derek properly, Stiles tapped on his chest. “Derek, wake up.”

Fluttering eyes and a deep scowl answered him.

“C’mon, I was reading a thing and I think you need to hear this,” Stiles pleaded. He was excited, and more full of energy and focus than he had been in years. This was better than Adderall, or the one time he tried cocaine with this insane, but totally awesome trucker named Matt. “Stop staring at me like I’m an asshole and get up so you can listen to this,” Stiles demanded.

“Your hair is gone. Why is your hair gone?” Derek reached up and ran a hand over his velvety scalp. Shivers ran down his spine and he smiled, loving the new intensity of a sensation he always adored before.

“Jesus, that feels good,” Stiles smiled, holding Derek’s arm up so he didn’t stop right away. “I was overdue. I borrowed your trimmer, I hope you don't mind. There’s werewolves called faoladh, or faelad. I think they might be you, or -- well, us.” Stiles waited for Derek to be excited, or show some kind of interest, but he just kept petting Stiles. Derek wasn’t exactly unhappy, but he wasn’t excited and he didn’t care about what Stiles was saying at all. Derek was fixated on his lack of hair. “What, why is it a big deal? It’ll grow back.”

“I liked... “ Derek started to say, but he stopped, making his lips a thin line as he brought his other hand up and ran both hands over Stiles’ scalp.

“You liked being able to hold on to it?” Stiles asked, feeling bad he didn’t give Derek any warning. He looked different with a buzzcut, really different.

“You look young like this. People are going to think you’re sixteen.” Derek’s scowl melted because Stiles was right and Derek didn't want to admit that part. “Will you talk to me about last night?” Derek asked, surprising Stiles with the question.

“Last night? I was--why?” Stiles asked, unsure where Derek’s question came from.

“I said not to talk about it then because it might upset you and it wouldn’t change anything, but we should talk about it today,” Derek answered, still running his hands slowly over the lack of hair.

“We had fun, it was good. We don’t need to,” Stiles insisted.

“We both had a lot of fun. So much fun we’re going to have to buy new bedding,” Derek said, looking down at the puncture marks in the sheet next to him. “It was great. I just need to know why those things bothered you.”

“You don’t want me to talk about things like that. I promise,” Stiles scoffed.

“I know I made you really uncomfortable last night and I don’t know why. I know it was your first time, but at the same time it wasn’t. I know you feel bad about it now, like you’re ashamed and I don’t like that.” Derek ran his hands down to Stiles’ neck, framing his face with his large, insistent hands. “Tell me, nothing has changed. I want to know, please,” Derek asked again.

Caving under the raw, open acceptance and love, Stiles resolved to explain the worst of it. He was still ashamed of the moment of disgust he felt when Derek said the same thing to him that he said to tricks so many times. “I want to make you feel good, that’s all. Don’t worry about me,” Stiles repeated, the words twisting in his gut uncomfortably. “I used to say that to the nice ones,” he explained, hoping Derek wouldn’t ask him what that meant.

“You never let them touch you?” Derek asked.

“No, I was really careful. I knew how to be. I’d never done anything with anyone like last night,” Stiles admitted, sure Derek already knew that part. “Most of my experience like that happened before I was on my own. It was all awkward, spin-the-bottle, closet groping sort of shit.”

“You can tell me anything,” Derek promised.

“I don’t want to do handjobs, at least for a while. I stopped biting my nails a couple years ago so I wouldn’t have broken skin on my hands,” Stiles blurted out. Part of him not knowing how to say that part, part of him testing Derek with one of the more innocuous realities of his life before Derek.

“That’s smart, protect yourself,” Derek nodded, approving of his pragmatism. “I don't know if I would have thought of that.”

“Yeah, I’m a genius for not getting herpes on my hands, now will you come read this book?” Stiles asked impatiently.

“No, we were talking about you. I want to know more. Anything.” Derek pulled him down, kissing his cheek sweetly.

It was unfair. The soft kisses Derek trailed over his skin destroyed his resolve. Stiles couldn’t say no to the sweet, loving request. It was unexpected, especially from a guy like Derek, after what he just confessed. Learning such weird and awful things about his life should not put Derek in a good mood. Stiles was never really good at connecting with other people, but he was sure he was an asshole for evading Derek now.

“I’ll tell you my life story when we’re back on the road. I talk a lot when I’m traveling,” Stiles promised.

“Why wait?” Derek smiled up at him, like he was excited Stiles agreed to it at all.

“It’s easier to talk about my life when the person I’m talking to isn’t looking at me. I don't really like to see initial reactions, to be honest,” Stiles admitted.

“My reactions haven’t been bad,” Derek maintained, and so far he was right.

“I know, but it’s still easier for me that way.” Stiles hoped he would drop it. Even talking about dredging up his past made him nervous.

“Okay,” Derek agreed. He ran his hands over Stiles’ chest and shoulders soothingly. “Show me this book, you were excited about that,” Derek reminded him. “You can read stuff to me while I cook you breakfast,” Derek offered, sitting up and wrapping Stiles up in a warm hug.

Prince Charming might be a little more like the Beast than Stiles thought at first, but he was somehow maintaining his pedestal without fail. Stiles let himself relax in Derek’s arms, feeling safe and loved even though he had just admitted more about himself than he wanted to. Derek was making it easy for him, making sure Stiles knew for certain he was going to be loved even after he shared the worst parts of himself. Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck, dropping the book on the bed to hug Derek back.

Derek’s scent was perfect and good, like the wet, green, mossy scent of the forest near Stiles’ house. He wanted to lose himself in it forever, but his stomach growled and Derek let him go, urging him up so he could take care of Stiles like he seemed to want to do all the time. Derek kissed him and a wash of warmth that didn’t feel like it quite belonged to him spread through his chest. It left him breathless and reeling, stumbling as Derek pulled him to his feet and put the book back in his hands.

“Tell me what it says,” Derek asked as he opened the refrigerator then pulled a pan down from the rack above the bar.

Stiles found the page he marked and focused on the words, reading them over quickly so he wouldn’t stop or stutter while he read the passage out loud to Derek. “The faoladh or conroicht is a unique and simple creature in the realm of the fae. They act as guardian and protector of children, wounded, and lost persons.” Stiles glanced up as Derek stopped cracking eggs into the pan. “I still think of myself as a kid, so I was a trifecta. I don’t know if you could have ignored me,” Stiles said offhandedly as he searched for his place again.

“These shapeshifters only take the form of wolves,” Stiles continued. “Preferring the familial pack bonds and uncomplicated desires of the wolf above all others. These close family ties coupled with the inhuman strength of the shapeshifter spirit formed proficient and loyal warriors who were known to be recruited by kings in time of war. The predatory behaviour they are capable of though, is rarely more vicious than the typical behavior of a common grey wolf. Socially, they are loving and attentive to those they care for and protective of others, unless a threat is perceived. When confronted by a malicious predator the faoladh will kill swiftly and brutally to eradicate the threat. They are known to--”

“What did you call it? Fay-lad?” Derek asked, holding the frying pan in mid air, all his attention focused on Stiles.

“Yeah, close enough,” Stiles answered, surprised Derek was so interested when he had all but ignored Stiles earlier. “I had to ask the lady at the shop to pronounce it for me. She said fwee-lah was probably good too.”

“Where did you buy that?” Derek asked as he set the pan down carefully on the stove top.

“Occult shop. I asked the lady there if there was anything on werewolves that were sorta nice, not like the movie monsters. She laughed like she thought it was a joke, but then she handed me this and asked if I’d met one,” Stiles laughed. “I lied and told her I was writing a screenplay, but she gave me two other books on Irish history that talk about all this stuff too...” Stiles trailed off, halted by the intensely curious look that was engulfing Derek’s face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“No -- yes, I’m fine. I just... “ Derek leaned against the counter like he didn’t know what to say. “That sounds like us, and I’ve -- we never heard of those things.” Derek gestured, his hands waving in the air then falling to his sides like he was defeated by the information.

“Are you weirded out I figured it out so fast?” Stiles asked. It was a concept he was already familiar with.

“A little, honestly. I feel like maybe we were such idiots -- or so busy? I don't know. Maybe Laura did know. It’s not like I ever bothered to ask.” Derek shrugged like he was giving up on himself.

“I think if she would have known she would have told you, but did you ever think maybe she was afraid of finding out?” Stiles asked.

“Why? We were alone and we didn’t know anything, like that we could change people with a bite,” Derek argued.

“Exactly, this isn’t fluffy bunny territory here. If there are more, they might not be like you. There might be rules, or a hierarchy. Something Laura wasn't willing to make you a part of. You were a kid. So was she, but she was protecting you,” Stiles assured him.

“She always protected me, she never --” Derek went silent abruptly.

Stiles came around the bar and flipped the heat off the eggs. He wanted to give Derek his undivided attention. Some kind of emotional reaction was inevitable after he said so much about Laura. Stiles didn’t know if he could fix it, but he could try.

“You protected her. The first thing you told me about yourself was that you were a thug. I get it now, but --” Stiles stopped because Derek was watching him with a strange kind of interest. He was letting Stiles hijack the conversation. Stiles didn't want to fuck things up the same as he alway did, so he dropped it. “Forget it. Tell me what you meant.”

“I was going to whine, what were you going to say?” Derek asked, still too interested in the bullshit Stiles made up in his his head. “I want to know,” Derek insisted.

“You know, I’m talking out of my ass half the time, you shouldn’t take the shit I say seriously... I’m just being an asshole.” Stiles recoiled from the possibility that Derek might trust him when he shouldn’t just because Stiles knew how to make his rationale sound better than the next guy did.

“You’re being an asshole by not talking. I want to know what you think,” Derek pressed again making it impossible for Stiles to say no without being more of a jerk.

“She was... not like you, right? Like, small. Really pretty in a girl way?” Stiles asked, riding out the hunch he had instead of just spilling it all on Derek’s lap like mental vomit. He needed to be more observant and not so insistent he already knew everything. The last couple nights had taught Stiles he knew nothing about the world really. .

“Yeah, she was short. A little over five feet. It was kind of funny, actually,” Derek smiled, proving how much grief he had given Laura over the years for being smaller than him.

Stiles smiled, wishing he could have seen Derek making fun of Laura, just once. Especially if it was funny enough to make Derek smile in the middle of such a heavy conversation. “But she was strong like you are, and you used to be like me. She was the dangerous one between the two of you, but she didn't look like it. You protected her because you made sure people didn't test her.” Stiles waited to see if Derek understood what he meant. Derek scowled and shook his head, not understanding. “How many a-holes would have fucked with her if you weren't around, just because she was a small woman?” Stiles asked.

“All of them,” Derek answered quickly.

“But they didn't because you were there. You knew she was stronger than you, but they didn’t. You called yourself a thug because you felt useless, but none of that shit you told me about being superheroes in New York would have been fun if she had so much bullshit to deal with. She probably would have ended up killing someone just to prove herself, and it would have been over. No more fun.”

Watching Derek process the information made Stiles nervous, like maybe he had stepped too far into territory he didn't belong in, or assumed too many things. His shoulders dropped in relief when Derek nodded just a little, agreeing with everything Stiles had said.

“She did have fun. She used to tell people she was in acquisitions when they asked what she did. They assumed business, and boring. Then she would say it was the best job ever, you just had to have the passion for it. They would always congratulate her for finding a job she liked, but they didn’t want to hear any more. I never understood how she always knew how to say everything so perfectly.” Derek marveled.

“She sounds fucking amazing,” Stiles laughing a little, impressed by the wordsmithing. Even second hand Laura’s grifting was remarkable. Telling the truth, but not telling it at all took skill and a certain kind of crazy Stiles admired. Suddenly a deep sensation of sorrow and loss bloomed in his chest. Derek’s expression went grim and sad, Stiles had to say something. “You didn’t get a lot of time with her, but you made it possible for her to do what she wanted, and be happy doing it. Maybe you didn't find your long lost clan of people, but fuck those guys, you don’t know them. You had her all to yourself. You didn't lose time you could have had with her.”

“I didn’t,” Derek’s eyes went glassy. “I didn’t miss anything.” Derek’s voice was surprisingly calm and unwavering as grief pooled in his eyes.

Comforting Derek wasn’t easy. Stiles slid his hand around Derek’s back, drawing him in. Derek’s arms circled his shoulders, falling heavily against Stiles. He took a moment to marvel at how easy it was to hold Derek up, how strong he was, how useful it suddenly felt. Letting Derek fall apart, knowing he wouldn’t have to let him go was a benefit he never imagined came with his new power. His heightened senses dissected the scent of grief, feeling it acutely as it rolled off Derek in waves. He listened to the heavy heartbeat, slowed by depression and sadness. Maybe this was what they were made for, maybe feeling everything more acutely was more the point than the claws and fangs.

Like this he was almost as good as Scott. Stiles would never forget how strong Scott was when he held Stiles this way. Once when he lost his mom, and again when his dad died. Being sick and weak never stopped Scott, or slowed him down when was there for Stiles. After going through the same thing Derek had more than once, Stiles knew exactly what was coming next.

Anger. Terrifying, wrathful anger was coming next. No one had brutally murdered Stiles’ parents the way someone had murdered Laura, but Stiles was still angry at the injustice of it when they died. He allowed himself to be angry at the whole world with no one to focus on, but Derek had someone. Whoever was after those diamonds. Fortunately, it was very likely they deserved to die. Stiles swallowed hard when Derek stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath to center himself. He wiped his face off over Stiles shoulders, not letting go, then tightened his arms and buried his face against Stiles neck, taking a deep breath again.

“I’m going to kill someone,” Derek said quietly.

“I’ll help,” Stiles promised, already wanting to destroy whoever had a hand in killing Laura, even though her death was the reason his life had changed so drastically for the better.


	7. Dicks and Little Debbie Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything in his head besides the bitter, uncoiling rage told him to shut his mouth, but he didn’t.

“We need to paint the car. We need it, but it needs to be black,” Stiles said, tapping his pencil nervously on the table. The full moon was over, but the lingering energy still pulled at them dangerously, putting them both on edge as they made the plan.

“Why black?” Derek asked. Laura had bought the car red, she didn’t choose it. He wasn't averse to painting it, but only if they absolutely needed to.

“Black cars are practically invisible. That’s why all government cars are black even though it’s a bitch to keep clean. I’d say concrete grey, those cars are so invisible people get sideswiped changing lanes and shit, but black is a close second. Good enough,” Stiles spilled out the facts while he was shifting the map away from his journal to make another note. “How much money do you have? I don’t need specifics, I just need to know what kind of resources I’m working with. It’s none of my business, but there’s just no way I can --”

“Millions, Stiles. Money isn’t a problem,” Derek assured him. He was accessing his main account as they spoke, moving money so they could stop by a bank tomorrow.

A long silence forced him to look up from the bank website. Stiles wasn’t handling the news about the money well, which Derek should have probably kept to himself. The deep scowl on Stiles face meant he had questions, probably a lot of them.

“You--“ Stiles pointed the pencil at Derek accusingly. “Millions, and you wanted to learn to live off the grid? You don’t live off the grid with millions. You make a new grid.”

“I don't live with money Stiles. I do like all the other rich people do, I accumulate it and let it sit in bank accounts like a trophies. If I knew how to use it, I probably wouldn't have been driving through Bonneville at all, would I?” Derek snapped, speaking sarcastically and being unfairly offended. Stiles was right, Derek’s plan had been bullshit, but he hadn’t known what to do at the time. Money was something he never understood because he never had to worry about it, and he never had to deal with it. Laura had --

“Laura’s money. Shit,” Derek cursed. He had forgotten all about Laura’s accounts. He had access to all of them, but they weren’t secure anymore now that she was dead.

Knowing all her account information made it too easy. A few minutes later it was all transferred into his accounts, except her personal checking. His name was on that though. It didn’t matter as much as the offshore accounts.

“So now what? You have twice as many millions as before? Let’s go buy a helicopter,” Stiles muttered bitterly.

“Do you want me to pay you now? It’s not like I don’t understand exactly how valuable your services are.” Derek regretted the spiteful, bitter words the second they came out of his mouth. He should have said he was sorry, begged for forgiveness, but he crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch instead.

“Did you seriously just say that?” Stiles scoffed, dropping his pencil. “You’re going to --” Stiles stopped as soon as he looked up and met Derek’s unapologetic expression. “You know what? Forget it. I have shit to get done.” Picking up the pencil again, Stiles wrote something in his journal, his lips pursed tight against the words he wanted to say.

Everything in his head besides the bitter, uncoiling rage told him to shut his mouth, but he didn’t. He had been sitting on the brink of this anger for hours. It bubbled out through his fingers, no matter how hard he tried to hold it down. Stiles had done nothing but help, but he was the one who dragged Derek out of his cocoon of bliss and new love. It didn’t matter that the love was because of Stiles. What mattered was the bliss wasn't the center of his universe anymore. He had no room to escape. Stiles was making a plan, forcing Derek to look at everything he had done wrong, how he had failed Laura before he even tried.

“Two nights? I’m sure we can itemize if you don’t have a blanket rate,” Derek spat out, his breath hitching in his throat as his words landed on Stiles’ ears. Stiles was going to hurt him for being so cruel, and Derek was going to let him.

“I only charge for handjobs,” Stiles mumbled, ignoring the blatant insult.

“We have three more nights here. You charge for quantity or quality because you haven’t touched my dick once.” Derek sat up, sure he could push Stiles hard enough, eventually.

“You think you’re going to insult me, and what? I’ll come kick the shit out of you?” Stiles asked, refusing to look up.

Derek flexed his jaw, angry he was so transparent and juvenile. “You couldn’t if you tried,” he muttered, unsure of he wanted to risk pushing Stiles further now.

“Let me enlighten you,” Stiles offered calmly. “I’m a selfish asshole. I abandoned my best friend because I couldn’t stand to stick around and watch him die slow. See, I watched my mom die crazy and slow, drugged up in a hospital bed. I knew how sick she was and I still fucked up and skipped school to smoke out and get wasted. I knew my dad needed me, but I was too busy chasing some bitchy redhead to give a fuck. I’m sure I helped drive him to that early heart attack, but my best friend still took me in when I had no one else. You know where Scotty is now?” Stiles asked.

Derek stared silently, unwilling to push the tirade of sickening confessions any further. He just wanted Stiles to stop talking.

“Scotty is going to die soon. They gave him five, maybe ten years. But I’m not there with him, I’m here with you, and your millions. Obviously, because I’m an opportunistic bag of dicks. Now you can fuck off, and let me finish what I was doing. Go start a bar fight if you wanna get the shit kicked out of you by some asshole with an anger issue. All we have here is far too much reality and debilitating self loathing.” Stiles looked back down at his journal, apparently unaffected by the confession.

The words froze Derek in place, icing out his anger like a cold gust of wind. Stiles wasn’t afraid of him. There had never been a possibility of Stiles take the bait. He had no reason to. It didn’t matter that Derek was stronger, Stiles was smarter and that counted for more.

“I’m sorry,” Derek forced out, hating that he needed anyone as much as Stiles was helping him. Derek didn’t understand the plan, or half the questions Stiles was asking. He was slowing Stiles down by demanding everything be explained.

“Fuck off. I don't care. Do us both a favor and stop acting like I’m your enemy just because I’m the only thing with a pulse within arm’s reach. Diamond Guy is your enemy. Focus on that,” Stiles said, pointing to the curtain rod with his pencil to emphasize his point.

Getting up and walking away was the best thing Derek could do for both of them. He showered and went to bed early, turning on the television to check in on the world quickly. There was nothing new, same people doing the same stupid shit, living the same boring, pointless lives. Stiles was still working though. Derek turned off the television and listened to his pencil scratching, keys on the laptop clacking.

Stiles bought the laptop, as well as the books, with money he found in the console of the Camaro. He didn’t spend any more than that, even though Derek wouldn’t have blamed him if he did, even for lunch or something. Eight thousand dollars and Stiles didn’t even buy the nicest laptop, just one good enough to do the job.

Stiles had been worried about spending money Derek needed. He kept the receipt, insisting they could take the laptop back when they were done. Stiles had never lived in a world where things like that didn’t matter. Derek had made enough friends, dated enough people that came from the same place Stiles did, he knew better. He also knew exactly which button to push. It was easy to piss off people who were ashamed of what they did for a few bucks when you had a wallet full of cash you didn’t give a fuck about.

They never expected Derek to fix their lives, they just didn’t want him to be an asshole about it. They only ever wanted his respect, for him to be comfortable living where they lived, if he expected them to be comfortable spending his money. He spent enough nights on broken mattresses, dates on rooftops with street food wrapped in tinfoil to know what it meant to have that respect. Derek never had to really live their lives though. He was always a tourist. Derek believed one day real love would follow him home, where he was comfortable.

Noises in the living room made Derek focus in again. Stiles dialed a number from his phone, not the burner. Derek sat up, worried about who Stiles was calling from his line. It rang and rang. Derek expected Stiles to end the call, but he waited, letting it ring.

“Hello?” a man’s voice asked one the other end.

“Hey, Danny,” Stiles said with a smile in his voice. His heart beat like he was scared though.

“Stiles? Holy shit, it’s been a while dude,” Danny said.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, and he meant it.

“New York? Is this your phone?” Danny asked.

“No, it’s a freinds. Actually, I think I have a job if you’re interested. He needs help and I figured if you were still in it?” Stiles asked tentatively.

“Yeah, yeah, bro. Thank you. I could use it right now. Do you have the details or is it all him?”

“No problem, glad to. It’s his deal. I’ll have him send his info over if it’s still the same email?”

“No,” Danny laughed like Stile should know better and gave him a new email address.

Stiles liked Danny quite a bit.

“Have you talked to Scott lately? You know he has a girlfriend and he’s doing really good. He misses you Stiles,” Danny said, diving right into territory Derek was sure Stiles was uncomfortable with.

“No. I haven’t heard from him, but hey, I have to go,” Stiles said apologetically.

“Can I call you back here sometime?” Danny asked.

“Um, yeah, you can get me at this number in the next few days, just text and I’ll call back when I can,” Stiles offered.

“I miss you, we all miss you. Call Scott so he knows you’re still alive alright?” Danny pressed.

“I -- I miss you too bro, for real. I gotta go, business, you know,” Stiles laughed like he was masking the conversation. Maybe he didn’t know Derek could hear all of it.

“Okay, we love you Stiles,” Danny said hopefully. “I’ll get on that work for your friend as fast as I can. Rush service, no extra charge because it’s you, okay?” Danny offered.

Thanks, you’re the best,” Stiles said uncomfortably. He said goodbye then sucked in a hard, ragged breath and dropped the phone on the table.

A second later he was walking down the hallway toward the other bathroom. He turned on the shower, but Derek didn't hear him get in for a long time. He was running the water so Derek couldn’t hear him. Shame bloomed hot and red on his cheeks. After everything good Stiles had done, he was hiding from Derek. Stiles didn’t want him to know how much he was hurting. He probably couldn’t stand the idea of Derek witnessing how upset he was after all the vile shit Derek had said to him.

There was no justification. Stiles was simply the only living thing to lash out at, so that’s what Derek did like a bratty little kid. Laura would have kicked Derek’s ass. Literally beaten the shit out of him until he swore to god he was sorry and he would never do it again. Laura never let him get away with feeling untouchable or invincible for this very reason. Hurting Stiles this way felt worse than how awful Derek had felt when he realized he had bitten Stiles and hurt him. .

He didn’t do things like this. He never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it, and Laura wasn't here to tell him what to do. She was his moral compass, half the time punishing him just so he could forgive himself and move on. Derek listened to Stiles move around, showering, brushing his teeth, and walking down the hall. Derek held his breath, hoping that Stiles would keep walking past his door and come to him, make it easy for Derek, even though he didn't deserve it. Stiles stopped and walked into his room. Derek imagined Stiles hesitated, looking at the closed door between them. That made it so much worse.

Self loathing and irritation flooded his chest, building a knot of frustration that just kept getting bigger. He didn’t have any answers, or any idea what would work to make it better. He couldn't afford to alienate Stiles further by pissing him off more. The only person who knew what would work to fix this was Stiles. Derek couldn’t just walk down the hall, knock on the door and ask what to do. Or maybe he could. Every time he asked, Stiles told him the truth. Derek got up and made his way down the hallways quickly before he could talk himself out of it.

Standing in front of the door like a statue was stupid. Stiles could hear him. His light was on, but it was silent inside, like Stiles was waiting for him to knock or say something. Derek forced his knuckles to rap lightly, just like he forced himself down the hallway. Stiles moved toward the door, the bed creaking loudly as he shuffled off of it. Derek took a step back, stunned to silence when the door opened and light flooded into the hallway.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked. His voice bitter and hard.

Derek’s stomach sank. The hope he had built up vanished. He took another step back, not sure how to leave without being an asshole again.

“Apologize,” Stiles demanded, letting go of his door and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry. I was an asshole.” Derek’s voice went weak with relief, aching like he had been kicked in the gut.

“Yeah, just a little,” Stiles said, but his voice was softer, not so dangerous.

“I was mad, but I wasn’t mad at you,” Derek tucked his hands under his arms, wanting to ask what Stiles wanted, if he could do anything. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated, just to make sure.

“I know.” Stiles pursed his lips, looking Derek over quickly. “You can’t come in though, not unless you promise me you won't ever do it again. I’m not anyone’s punching bag.”

Derek hadn’t expected the offer, just some assurance Stiles didn't hate him would have been enough. “I won’t,” Derek shook his head. “I don’t usually--I’m not like that,” he promised.

“I know. You’re fucked up over your sister.” Stiles reached out, grabbing on to his shoulder like he was still annoyed, and pulled him into the room. “Sit down. I was about to gorge myself on junk food and take a walk down misery lane. You look like you’ll make great company.” Sarcasm dripped from Stiles’ lips like acid, but his words were still loving in a way.

“I don't think you’ll like all that as much as you hope,” Derek warned, pointing to the pile of plastic wrapped, shelf stable snack cakes and artificially flavored junk next to the bed.

“Nothing will ever deter me from my love of Little Debbie, not even my impending case of diabetes,” Stiles smiled.

“I don’t think we can get diabetes.” Derek knew they couldn’t. Peter had told Laura that much, that she would never get sick or die from any kind of human illness, but he didn’t want to sound like a dick when Stiles was trying to be funny.

“Will you stop being a downer and get in bed already?” Stiles said.

Climbing up on the bed, Derek made plenty of room for Stiles, sitting sideways up against the wall. The bed in this room was only a double, barely big enough for one person their size. Stiles tossed him a lemon looking muffin and climbed up on the bed next to him with the box from his bag, with all the photos in it.

“You heard me talking to Danny?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Derek admitted.

Scooting in close to Derek, Stiles looked over at him like he expected Derek to make better room. He moved over a little more, but Stiles stopped him and lifted his arm. Derek raised it the rest of the way and pulled Stiles against his chest. Opening the case Derek had already rifled through, Stiles shuffled through the pile of photos, organizing them how he wanted to present them. A picture of a handsome young man was on top. He wore a red sports uniform and he was covered in sweat, smiling and waving at the camera.

“That’s Danny, arguably the only other functional delinquent in Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, handing him the picture.

“What is a functional delinquent?” Derek asked, wondering if Stiles took the picture.

“Honor roll, with a criminal record.”

“You were on honor roll?”

“Yeah. is that hard to believe?” Stiles asked.

“It’s hard to believe you would put that much effort into a public education,” Derek explained. The few weeks he spent in public school was the biggest lesson in futility he ever had.

“My dad,” Stiles handed him the next photo. It was Stiles, but much younger, with an older guy who looked just like him. “He wanted me to get good grades. He was sick, so I did.”

“Just like that?” Derek asked, wondering if there was more to it.

“Just like that. I wanted to make him happy.” Stiles shrugged. Stiles said before it was easier to talk to people when he wasn’t looking at them. He meant it. “This is Scott and Erica,” Stiles held out the photo for him to take. He dropped the other two on the bed and Stiles scooped them up. “See that chalkboard behind Scott?” Stiles pointed to the greenish mass in the background.

Derek inspected the board closely. “Are those lewd drawings?”

“Lewd?” Stiles laughed. “Those are dicks, Derek. That’s what you learn in public school.” Stiles laughed.

“Well, now I’m sorry I missed it,” Derek drawled sarcastically.

“Yeah you are,” Stiles giggled, flipping through the stack again until he found a photo of a thin curly haired boy and a tall, chubby, young black man. “This is Isaac and that’s Boyd. We were all in special-ed together for a while. Scott and Erica because they needed the nurse, her office was right next to the room we were in most of the day. I mouthed off constantly and pissed off all the other teachers. Isaac tried to kill his dad and Boyd tried to kill himself. There were a few others, but these were my friends.”

“Seems kinda cruel, making those poor, sick kids hang out with such hardened delinquents,” Derek said, laughing at the idea of Stiles in a special education class, but Derek wouldn’t put anything past public education systems.

“You have no idea. There was this girl, Dawn, she had Downs Syndrome. She was smart. She mainstreamed and everything, but hanging out with us did not do her any favors. She drew like, half of those dicks on the chalkboard. She was such a nice kid before she met us. Public school is fucked,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

“I’m sure she turned out fine,” Derek laughed softly.

“She died, right before I left. Had a heart attack in the middle of the night. Pissed me off how many people acted like it was some tragedy. Most of the kids in school treated her like she was invisible, or a freak.” Stiles was still bitter about it, understandably.

“You guys didn’t,” Derek assured him.

“Are you kidding? She was the best of us. She was the one that didn't belong there.” Stiles dropped his hands in his lap. “I never got a picture of her. She never let me. The day I took all these pictures I pushed it, you know, joking around like maybe she would let me if I made her laugh. She said she was ugly, I made her cry.”

Derek didn’t know what to say to that. It was one of those moments anyone could step into on accident. Sometimes people needed a push, and sometimes the push broke them. You never knew unless you tried. Stiles shuffled the photos like he was ready to move on, not needing Derek’s commentary.

“That’s my mom,” Stiles said, holding up a photo of a young redheaded woman that looked remarkably like Stiles as well. Where Stiles’ dad lacked the large eyes, upturned nose and sharp cheekbones, his mother’s were even more pronounced than his.

“She’s gorgeous.” Derek didn't take the photo because Stiles didn't offer it.

“Wasn’t there some talk of sugar? Copious amounts of sugar. Sugar goes hand in hand with misery,” Stiles said, dropping the photo’s back in the box as he reached for a chocolate cake.

Bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of disappointment, Derek watched as Stiles opened the package and took a bite of the cupcake thing. A moment later he was spitting it out in the trash next to his bed.

“Gross, man. That tastes like plastic,” Stiles said as he reached for another package. One of the lemon muffins. A few seconds later he was coughing into the trash bin. Derek rubbed his back as Stiles spit out the last of it, red faced and sick like it had churned his stomach. “That one was even worse. It’s like... bad.”

“Processed food is mostly fake flavors, preservatives, second rate flour--all of which have a pretty high instance of things like mold, bugs and rodent feces. Pretty much anything likr that is going to taste gross,” Derek warned him.

“Not Little Debbie, my fucking life is over.” Stiles fell back on the bed, sprawled out against Derek dramatically. “Is this why everything you eat is organic and nearly every meal has eggs?”

“Clean protein.”

“Fuck. First downside to being a fucking werewolf. No sugar.”

“Oh, we can eat sugar. I’ll put away a whole box of cannoli myself. You just know what you’re eating now. And how is that the first downside? The murderous rage didn't hit the top of that list?” Derek asked.

“That went away. Cheap sugar aversion is forever!” Stiles complained, the cute, frustrated pitch in his voice making Derek laugh. “Seriously dude, this is not funny! I have needs. Like rolls of raw sugar cookie dough and those little colored sprinkles that turn your mouth to confetti. How can you live like this? I’m heartbroken.”

Laughing at the heartfelt description of colored sprinkles, Derek closed the photo box and dragged Stiles up against his chest again. “I will make you cookies. Tomorrow. Piles of them, and brownies too if you like chocolate,” Derek promised.

“Are you serious?” Stiles asked, peering up at him like maybe he was lying. “Are you just saying that because you feel guilty for being a dick? Are you promising me cookies of placation?”

“Yes,“ Derek admitted, laughing. “Cookies of placation.”

“I refuse to accept cookies of placation,” Stiles growled, scrambling up and pushing him down on the bed. “Take it back,” he demanded.

“Okay,” Derek agreed, grinning at how silly Stiles was being. “What about the brownies?” he asked.

“Who can say no to bribery by brownie?” Stiles asked, lowering himself down on Derek’s still laughing chest. “I’ll take cookies too, but only if they’re made with love.”

Love was a sobering word. It couldn’t be laughed at. Derek loved Laura, but he needed her in a way he didn’t need Stiles, not really. Laura was someone to live up to, but Stiles was someone to live with. Keeping Stiles would mean being a boyfriend, a husband, whatever Stiles wanted, and that was something Derek had never considered a possibility before.

Pushing off his chest abruptly, Stiles moved everything off the bed and turned off the light. He climbed in next to Derek. Stiles faced him, moving the pillows until they were both sharing the same one in the small space.

“We’re stuck with each other aren’t we?” Stiles asked. It was an odd question, but he didn’t sound upset, just curious. "Like, we don't want to be away from each other at all," he clarified.

“I think so. Laura and I hated being away from each other. It made us feel like shit. After a few days we would always go back, even if we thought we didn't want to,” Derek admitted.

“Did you guys fight a lot?”

“No, barely ever, but when we did it was like the apocalypse. We destroyed our apartment one time. It was stupid.” Derek was aware his voice broke a little when he remembered Laura, but he hoped Stiles wouldn't say anything.

A short, quiet laugh tumbled out of Stiles, but he quickly squashed it. “Doesn't sound stupid. It sounds like it traumatized you,” Stiles laughed again.

“We fought over a boy," Derek admitted.

"You were both into the same guy?" Stiles asked like he never heard something so outrageous.

"He thought he was going to play us, but we smelled him on each other eventually. She said he was a bastard. I defended him, for no good reason. So, she ripped me a new one for being naive and stupid. I fought back because I thought I was in love.”

“Were you?”

“No, I was sixteen. I was being played and I didn't know any better. I was painfully shy and introverted back then. I didn't make eye contact with barely anyone besides Laura and our door guy for years.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked, shuffling closer until they were almost nose to nose.

“To the guy, or me?”

“Both.”

“The guy got his ass handed to him, and run out of town, by Laura, not me. She taught me how to spot a player, how to tell when I was being played. Eventually I learned what genuine looked like, and felt like. It’s real easy to spot when you know what you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, it is,” Stiles said quietly. “Do you want to keep me?” he asked abruptly, his eyes searching Derek's face for the truth.

The question sounded too much like Stiles didn't have a choice. Stiles asked, surprising him because he thought he needed to trick Derek into finding out the truth. Stiles couldn't read him as well as Derek assumed he could.

“I don't want to keep you. I want you to stay,” Derek admitted. Running his hand up Stiles hip and under his shirt, Derek rested his hand on hot, bare skin he wished he could touch more of.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I keep expecting you to figure out how fucking useless I am and take it all back.”

Stiles believed what he said. He believed he was useless somehow. The words scratched at something dangerous inside him. Derek shut his eyes, remembering the words Stiles said to him in the kitchen, dismantling his life so easily and putting it back together again so it made sense, so Derek felt like he had done something real for Laura when she was alive. He didn't know how to say the same things for Stiles. Maybe he didn't know enough about him yet. He owed Stiles more, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to give. A painful, searing frustration pushed at him. Stiles was everything. Calling himself useless was wrong.

“Don’t say that,” Derek said, too harshly. He ran his hand up to Stiles' chest, moving gently, trying to soften his words. “I need you. It's probably not what you imagined you're life would be like, but we're family now,” Derek promised, his voice softer, more quiet. "I'm not--I might not do this well sometimes but I'm yours. Boyfriend, husband, partner, I don't care what you want me to be, I'll do it. I'll take care of you, you're mine."

Bright, glowing gold eyes fixed on Derek's. Stiles wasn't quite able to control them yet. He blinked rapidly, like he could feel them betraying his thoughts, but Derek didn’t need the color of his eyes to tell him how much Stiles wanted to hear it again. How deeply it affected the primitive part of them to say things like that.

“You’re mine,” Derek repeated, pressing his lips to Stiles’ mouth quickly.

Stiles pushed him back and climbed on top of him again, straddling his hips, his legs tight and trembling. His long fingers framed Derek’s face, his eyes demanded something his lips hadn't delivered yet.

“Say it again,” Stiles urged, his eyes wide and nervous.

“You’re mine. I don’t care what stupid shit you say or do, or how bad you think you are. I want you. I need you. You’re my family now,” Derek said all the words Stiles needed to hear again even though they made his heart pound in his chest like a hammer trying to rip it’s way out. Stiles needed him, he needed to hear the words over again to believe them. It shined a stark, bright light on the reality of what Derek promised him.

“I only believe you because you’re scared shitless, just like I am.” Stiles said, challenging him to tell the entire truth.

“I’m fucking terrified. This is insane,” Derek admitted, thankful Stiles said it first.

“Neither of us probably very good at taking what comes easy without trying to fuck it up," Stiles pointed out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you’re a huge pain in my ass.” Derek smiled softly, comforted by how easy it was for Stiles to call him out on shit and admit when he was wrong himself.

"I think that's how you know I really love you," Stiles grinned.


	8. The Scent of Grief and Cheap Gas Station Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It shouldn’t have looked like this. Stiles had been angry, but he expected the new owners to gut it and make it totally different, not just familiar enough to ruin him.

All day Stiles was certain he was only inches away from being underfoot, but every time Derek turned around he wrapped an arm around Stiles like he was supposed to be there. The desire to be so near Derek seemed needy and bizarre, but it was absolutely necessary to the loudest part of his brain that processed all the new things. Like extra sensitive hearing and sense of smell. It was overwhelming sometimes, but knowing for sure Derek was close by took the edge off the anxiety considerably.

After a few hours of following Derek around town, running errands and dropping the car off to be painted, they picked up grey SUV from a rental place like Stiles suggested. They had to have the SUV cleaned again before Stiles could sit in it without his skin crawling and his gut churning from the fake flower stench of the cleaners they used. He tried to pretend it was okay, but Derek pushed him, said it wasn't fair to make him suffer when he wasn’t used to it. Derek made up some an easy story about allergies and paid the guy at the rental place too much money to fix it.

Stiles wasn't sure what to do with Derek anymore. There wasn’t even a hint of game left to play. Stiles was stripped bare. He had laid everything out, from his fear of being left alone to how insecure he was half the time. He was worried Derek would get tired of his know-it-all bullshit and endless supply of useless knowledge, just like everyone else did. Stiles didn't feel strong like he was used to. He didn't have any armor to protect him from Derek. But he did feel useful, and loved.

All day Derek took care of him and asked him for his help and his opinion. Derek treated him like an equal, like he had always belonged there next to him. No one had ever treated him like that except Scott. Stiles never imagined a scenario where having someone like that was possible, especially a person as beautiful and kind as Derek. It took something as insane as a long extinct band of shapeshifter spirits to give his life direction, but in the face of how good it was, Stiles wasn't going to complain about the weirdness.

Stiles wasn't the only one whose life could get better though. If he played his cards right, if he was useful and proved himself genuinely good, Stiles hoped Derek would say yes to Scott too. Everything he read and experienced pointed to a cure. Scott could be like them, get out of the toxic little town they grew up in and prowl the streets of New York with Stiles and Derek. They would be like brothers again, and Scott wouldn’t choke to death quietly in his sleep one night. Scott was doing better now, whatever that meant, but better didn't mean he would live.

It would only take a moment to look online and see exactly what better meant, but Stiles didn't check his facebook, or his email anymore. He couldn’t. There were always too many messages, too many questions from Scott, even after all this time. The only reason Scott wasn't out tracking him down in person was because he couldn’t. As much as Stiles hated it, he was thankful for Scott's weakness at the same time. Stiles may have failed Scott as a friend, but he could offer Scott something no one else could, if Derek agreed. Stiles was sure he would. Derek loved him, they loved each other. When Derek was upset Stiles felt it, he wanted to make it better. Derek would never let Scott die like that if he could help it. Losing him that way when they could fix it would destroy Stiles.

“We have two days until the car is ready. Do you want to go home before we go back to New York?” Derek asked. The question should have surprised him, but they were only nine hours away, it made sense to go now. If anything happened to him in New York, when they went after Diamond Guy, Stiles wanted to see everyone one last time. “We can stop here, buy a few things and hit the road. We’ll be there by ten, find a place to stay on the way?” Derek suggested, gesturing to a shopping center.

Even though Stiles hadn't given him an answer, Derek pulled into the strip mall. Shopping for himself wasn’t something he was prepared for. He hadn’t done anything like that for a very long time, but he had to. His old army boots and work pants made him attractive to truckers, but he would be ashamed if Scott saw him like he was. He nodded, swallowing hard as he thought about actually seeing Scott.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Derek asked.

“You kinda have to, I don’t --” Stiles stopped when Derek pulled out his wallet and handed him a stack of bills.

“I don't want any of it back. Don’t argue.” Derek pushed the cash into his hand and reached across him, opening the door.

“I don’t know--,” Stiles started to argue.

“No, you didn’t give your mom or dad grief for having the bank accounts. We’ll get you your own right after this if you want. Laura would have wanted you to have her stuff, all of it you can use at least,” Derek insisted.

“You’re kind of a dick for pulling the dead sister card,” Stiles snapped. He felt bad for a moment, thinking maybe it was too soon to be so flippant. But Stiles knew from experience it never got better.

Derek rolled his eyes so maybe it didn’t matter. “No, I’m not. I have to use all the weapons at my disposal,” Derek argued as he pushed Stiles out of the SUV.

Barely catching himself as he spilled out the door, Stiles slammed it shut and leaned against it for a moment to make a plan of action. Normally he would be nervous about having this much money in his hand out in the open, but a place like the strip mall was as safe as most suburban living rooms, sometimes safer depending on who mom and dad were. He hated places like this. They reminded him of a time when he was just a regular kid and his biggest problem was arguing with his dad over his allowance.

The glass on the storefront was too clean. Stiles could already smell the claustrophobic scent of new clothes and too many people wafting out of the strange little clothing store. Stiles watched the young people, probably about his age, milling around as loud music blasted out of the speakers in the ceiling. He sat up when he spotted a wall of skateboards. He and Scott used to skateboard and ride bikes all the time. They would skate all day then sneak beers from his dad and stay out too late on the roof just outside his bedroom window.

His heart pounded and his mouth went dry as he tried to make his feet move toward the door. He took a step back, reaching for the door handle of the Camaro, but this was the SUV. He looked over, his fingers fumbling against the shiny grey paint, missing something as easy and stupid as the fucking door handle. Blood rushed to his ears, his head hurt and his eyes didn’t want to focus.

“Stiles... Stiles,” Derek demanded his attention. “Stop. Take a deep breath.” Stiles did as Derek told him to immediately, then thought about it a moment later when he was forcing down a hard, broken breath. “Slow down and tell me what’s wrong,” Derek asked. His hand slid over Stiles’ shoulder and wrapped around the nape of his neck, grounding him far too easily.

“I don't want to go in there,” Stiles answered, not caring how stupid he sounded.

“So don’t, let’s go to this place down here,” Derek pointed down the walkway to a small shop with suits in the window.

“I don’t want to wear a suit,” Stiles argued, wishing he had a better reason to leave than stay.

“It’s just men’s clothes, not kids clothes,” Derek waved at the store behind him dismissively. “I thought you would want to go in there, but maybe that’s not really you, if it ever was.”

“It was,” Stiles forced out abruptly. “It was me.”

Three years ago. Back then Stiles would have gone into the loud store with Scott and spent hours fucking around, trying on shoes and making fun of shit that was too flashy or commercial. He wasn’t that kid anymore. Not even close. The last thing he had of his old life was his red hoodie and that stayed tucked in the bottom of his bag, taking up valuable space just in case he wanted to go home someday. Washing it, along with his backpack, had been almost as hard as washing his belt. That’s who he was now. A dirty street kid who was afraid to wash his clothes because it made them wear out faster.

He followed Derek to the suit shop because Derek held his hand. He felt like a little kid. He wanted to stop and cry and make Derek take him somewhere safer, like a little kid, but he didn’t. Stiles let go as they walked up to the door, grateful the place was empty except for the clerk. Derek sat him down in a chair near the front door close to the shoe racks and went to talk to the clerk. Stiles let his eyes graze over the mosaic of cars and trucks in the parking lot, aggressively avoiding the conversation Derek was having with the clerk.

“He’ll bring the stuff they have that fits you up here,” Derek offered, sitting down next to him.

“Can I call him?” Stiles asked, hoping Derek and the clerk wouldn’t mind. It wouldn’t be a long call, Stiles couldn’t keep his shit together for that long.

“Yeah, here.” Derek pulled his phone out, glancing at the screen quickly. “Oh, shit, he left you a message.”

Stiles snatched the phone out of Derek’s hand, turning it so he could read the banner on the lock screen.

‘Stiles, it’s Scott, I miss you. call me.’

“I don't get text messages really, I don't have it set up to vibrate or alert or anything. I’m sorry,” Derek apologized, but Stiles didn't care. He got the message, that was enough.

Flicking the screen open he called the contact back, holding his breath as the phone rang once, then again.

“Hello?” Scott’s familiar, raspy voice answered.

“Hi, Scott,” Stiles tried like hell to get it out in one solid breath, but his voice broke and his eyes glassed over making the world around him watery and broken.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaimed, coughing a rough, angry sound almost immediately. “Mom, it’s Stiles!” Scott called out, coughing again. This time it was worse because Scott was excited and shouting. Two things he wasn’t supposed to do at the same time.

Listening to the barking cough was too much. His eyes brimmed over and fell down his cheeks leaving shameful, bitter trails across his borrowed black shirt. He dropped the phone from his ear as Melissa did something for Scott so he could talk again, probably his inhaler. Stiles dropped his head, ashamed of how far away he wanted to be from all of it, any reminded of how much Scott suffered was too much.

A hand wrapped around his chin, gripping his jaw tight. It turned his face up so all Stiles could see was Derek. “Talk to him. Be excited to talk to him,” Derek demanded.

Bringing the phone back to his ear, Stiles made himself quiet and calm. He took a deep breath and waited patiently for Scott to be ready to talk to him again.

“Stiles, you there?” Scott asked, hopeful and excited still.

“Yeah buddy, of course I’m still here,” Stiles said, smiling like he meant it, even though Scott couldn’t see him.

“Danny said you sounded good, but -- Stiles are you okay? Is everything okay?” Scott was worried about him.

Stiles had to make that stop immediately or he would never be able to trudge through the phone call. “I’m doing really well actually. I met this guy and I guess he figured I wasn't a complete waste of time. He set me up with a sweet job and I’m doing good, real good Scotty,” Stiles smiled when he talked, almost believing the half truth he mangled just enough to sound like perfection.

“Really? That’s awesome! What’s the job?” Scott asked, having no reason to question Stiles.

“Acquisitions, we find shit rich people want and figure out ways to get it for them. It’s one of those jobs you never knew existed until you meet someone with it, right?” Stiles laughed, selling the oddity. “The guy just lost his partner, needed someone who could think fast and talk hard. I told him I could do that job.” Stiles laughed, because Scott laughed.

“You were born for that job,” Scott agreed. He coughed, wet and rough. Stiles held his breath. “Is the money good?” Scott asked.

What he didn’t say was the worry in his voice that Stiles was underselling himself like he always did. He needed Scott to stop worrying about him, but Stiles gave him too many reasons to do just that.

“It’s good. Actually he’s a great guy, better than fair. We -- um. We’re going to be down your--” Stiles cleared his throat, trying to knock the tightness away that was building back up in his chest. Derek stared him down, shaking his head slightly. The discomfort vanished and Stiles took a deep breath. “Sorry, bro. It’s been a while. I’m really excited to see you and I was hoping you were going to be around?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Scott shuffled, moving around. “Mom, Stiles is coming home!”

Melissa’s happy voice caught Stiles off guard. He smiled as he listened to her tell Scott how happy she was. Then she told Scott to get back on the phone and make plans.

“Sorry, sorry, yes! We’re going to be here. I can call Lydia and Danny, and Isaac he--”

“Scott, wait.“ Stiles couldn’t see all of them. He could barely make the phone call. “Dude, I just want to see you for now. It’s been too long. Promise me you’ll keep it to yourself and I promise I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Just me, is everything okay?” Scott asked, suddenly worried again.

“Yeah man, I just really miss you. I want bro time. Like, kick your mom out for a few hours, eat too much junk food, and play COD kinda hang time. No crime in that, right?” Stiles laughed, feeling better because he actually meant everything he was saying

“No... No, I’m down for that,” Scott laughed, raspy, but happy. “When will you be around?

“Pretty much all day. Maybe your mom won't mind entertaining my partner here. He’s really handsome, charming and rich,” Stiles offered, smiling at Derek who shook his head with a deep scowl like Stiles was suggesting some kind of torture. “He’s looking at me like I’m an asshole,” Stiles laughed, making Scott laugh too.

“Mom, do you want to --” Scott busted up laughing again, which made him cough painfully.

“Hello?” Melissa asked. Stiles couldn’t make himself respond fast enough. “I’m sorry Stiles, he’s so excited. What did you need honey?”

This was not part of the plan. Talking to Melissa, was not part of the plan. He swallowed hard and sat up, all of the good grace he build for himself knocked out of him like a kick to the chest.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles spilled out.

“He’ll be fine, but maybe you could keep the jokes down to a minimum, sweetheart?” Melissa laughed, not understanding he meant he was sorry for a lot more than Scott’s coughing fit.

She was sweet to him, kind, understanding even though he dropped in on her so unexpectedly. She asked Stiles to be better, she didn't tell him and scold him like she should have. And she called him sweetheart, like she always did. Talking to Scott was bad enough but talking to Melissa was fucking impossible. He had to do it though. If he didn't do it, Derek would make him do it, and he had to talk to Melissa on his own terms.

“I’ll cool it. I’m really sorry Melissa. I didn't mean to make anything worse. I’m just... I’m going to see you tomorrow right?”

“Yes, of course. I can’t bring myself to kick him out, he’s too cute,” Melissa laughed, even though they both knew Scott was never moving out. “Here, Scott wants to talk to you again. I love you sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, I love you too.” Stiles couldn't make himself be ashamed of the tears that spilled down his cheeks. He hunched over, elbows on his knees, holding his head so no one could see him.

“Stiles?” Scott asked, sounding worn out and hollow.

“Yeah, bro.” Stiles answered, giving up on hiding how upset he was.

“Are you crying?” Scott asked quietly, like he didn’t want Melissa to hear.

“Dude, your mom is the fucking worst,” Stiles said sarcastically.

“Yeah... I’ll kick her in the shins for you,” Scott offered, Stiles could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hard. Mean it,” Stiles demanded, laughing as he wiped his face on the back of his hand.

“Done.” Scott promised. “So, hey dude. You have a phone right? This your partners line? That’s what Danny said.”

“Oh, yeah, you know me. I fucking dropped mine in the toilet. I’m getting a new one today. I have your number now, so I’ll text you later okay?”

“Are you busy? Can you talk more?” Scott asked, sounding far too worn out to keep up, and Stiles couldn’t lie to him when he sounded like that.

“You should rest up so you’re 100% when I roll in. You don’t want your mom to ban us from talking again, do you?” Stiles laughed, reminding Scott of the week they had to spend sneaking around on Xbox live just to hang out because they were grounded from each other.

‘Okay,” Scott said, sounding disappointed.

“Aw, don’t be bummed out. I’ll text you and send you pictures and shit, okay?” Stiles offered.

“Alright. If you send me anything though, send it to my email, okay?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, no problem. I love you bro. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Saying goodbye to Scott was almost as bad as Melissa, but he kept his shit together. Derek rubbed his back, taking the phone from Stiles’ hand when he held it out.

“You gonna be okay?” Derek asked.

“I didn’t expect that to be easy. I’ll be fine,” Stiles assured him. “Is this rack of dulcet grey tones all for me?” he asked, gesturing to the new rack close to them.

“Yeah,” Derek smiled, still enjoying Stiles’ terrible sense of humor for now.

Flipping through the lot of it once, Stiles pulled out a couple shirts, slacks and a jacket. He dropped his pants right there in front of the door and pulled on the new ones. They fit, that was good enough. He slid in and out of the rest of it in record time, Derek assured him it was all perfect. They walked out with a bag of clothes and a box of shoes. Maybe he should have cared more, but he wanted to make Scott, Melissa, and Derek comfortable and happy a lot more than he cared about his own bullshit anymore.

Most importantly, Scott and Melissa needed to not worry about him. It wasn’t just because he wanted to make Scott laugh, and hear Melissa call him sweetheart again. It was because he owed them. He gave them so many reasons to worry for so long. If he never came back from New York the last thing he needed them to see was perfection, bliss. That way if Stiles disappeared, or showed up dead somewhere, it wouldn't be because he was a tragedy. It would be because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like normal people told themselves to feel better. That’s what he needed them to think, he had to sell it.

“You wanna go pick up that phone then?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, if you don't mind?” Stiles answered, hoping Derek would keep making it all that easy.

Sliding into the mindset of the person Melissa and Scott expected him to be was nearly effortless. Stiles wanted it bad enough. Bringing that personality to the surface meant suppressing the things that held him down, made him quiet and reserved. All the wear and tear from the road drifted away like it was some kind of bad dream. He wasn't Stiles who called himself Gary if you were a trick, who ate out of gas stations and didn't mind sleeping outside as long as it was dry. He was Stiles Stilinski, grown up version of the sarcastic little shit that left Beacon Hills with a chip on his shoulder and too many big ideas about being free.

Free to be hungry, cold and desperate wasn't really being free. What he had now was free. Feet kicked up on the dash of a sickeningly huge SUV, air conditioning burning a hole in the o-zone. This was where Stiles Stilinski had been all along. He offered to drive part of the way home, but Derek told him to read if he wanted to, that Stiles could drive if he got tired of it. Derek didn't know Stiles never got tired of reading. He blasted through the book from the occult shop, folding the pages to mark off things he wanted to look up on the internet. Six hours into the trip his stomach was the only thing that stopped him from concentrating.

Still in research mode, Stiles typed organic deli into the browser on his new phone and set his location. A place popped up right off the freeway. They were open for a little while longer. He pointed Derek in the direction of the store and logged into his facebook. Dozens of messages and notifications had piled up. People asking him where he was and how he had been. He lifted his new phone and snapped a photo of himself making a suggestive face with Derek’s undefined silhouette in the background. He posted it as his new profile image and instantly people started to comment.

Ignoring it, except for Scotty and his rampant enthusiasm, Stiles replied right away. He laughed at Scott’s demand for a photo of Derek. Scott already suspected there was more to their relationship than boss and employee.

“Having fun?” Derek asked hopefully.

“I want Scotty to think I’m having fun. Smile.” Stiles pointed the camera at Derek.

Derek gave him a raised eyebrow and a devastatingly handsome half grin, which was damn good enough. “What does that mean, you want him to think you are?”

“It means I fucking hate this social media shit, and how everyone pretends their life is so much better than it is. Meanwhile, assholes like me think we’re huge failures when we compare. So, I’m using it for what it’s really for. I’m faking it,” Stiles explained.

“You’re faking being happy, and hanging out with me?” Derek asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered. His goal oriented brain working against his mouth. He realized what he said far too long after it had left his mouth. “Not like that, I mean --” Stiles stammered, but it was too late.Derek was watching the road, obviously unhappy with what Stiles had said, and failing miserably if he meant to keep it to himself. “That was a dick thing to say. I meant I’m trying to make it look like we’ve been doing this for a while. Do you really want me to show up and be like ‘Hey bro, yeah I just met this guy like, four days ago, we’re married now.’ ‘Cause I don’t that that’ll go over to great,” Stiles pointed out.

“I thought I was your boss, now I’m your husband?” Derek asked, but he smiled forgiving Stiles easily.

“Yeah, sure. Ring, car, house, then I’m yours,” Stiles laughed. “But seriously. I need to sell this to them. You can play it off like you’ve known me for months, right?” Stiles asked.

“Of course I can, but do you want to get that specific? If someone asks or says anything like that, just laugh it off, change the subject, make a joke. You know how to do that. Give the impression that we’ve known each other forever, don't say it outright. Only engaged couples and crazy, insecure people say shit like how many months they’ve known someone,” Derek argued.

“Maybe I used to be really insecure?” Stiles said, not wanting to admit it outright.

“You aren’t anymore. You have no reason to be. You can be as different as you want. You have the same face, that’s all you need to sell it.” Derek was right. Three years was a long time.

Being a little more subdued, like he actually was now, would probably be better than pretending to be loud and gregarious like he used to be. Plus, it would probably keep Scotty in better shape not making him laugh so much. They stopped to eat and he checked in, letting the whole world know he was only three hours away from Beacon Hills like a normal kid. Scott sent him a message telling him he was a dick for not letting him throw a party. Stiles promised Scott he could later and got a weird little yellow emoticon back. Stiles did not miss those at all.

“Fuck all this technology and money and all the stupid shit it makes us do. I’m so done,” Stiles flipped his phone over, face down on the table.

Derek was done with his lunch already, mostly because he didn't have a cell phone strapped to his hand the whole time. Derek looked through the front pocket of his leather jacket and stuffed something back down inside before glancing at the maligned phone under his hand.

“Did you find a hotel?” Derek asked.

“No, I know where the hotels are,” Stiles assured him.

“Did you make a reservation?”

Stiles shoved the last couple bites of his shredded chicken sandwich into his mouth and looked up the Dunes Motel in Beacon Hills. The place was small but clean and friendly. Erica worked there for a few weeks on work study. She said it was the only place she worked that actually cleaned the toilets instead of just putting those little bleach cakes in the tanks and hoping for the best. Hanging out with Erica had made him terrified of the service industry.

Once they had a reservation they got back on the road. Derek watched the road too intently as they drove, like he was trying not to look at Stiles for some reason. Stiles smiled because he thought it was cute, then realized he understood exactly why: Derek really liked him and didn’t want to be weird and stare a lot. Trying not to laugh at how ridiculous and funny that was, Stiles made a small, choked off noise and laughed anyways.

“What’s so funny?” Derek asked.

“Nothing,” Stiles answered, shaking his head. His face went hot, and his chest filled with excitement to bursting as the reality that this crazy-hot, smart, nice, criminally inclined, rich asshole wanted him settled in finally. Derek eyed him, obviously not believing the denial because Stiles was still laughing. “You like me,” Stiles grinned, not really explaining himself.

The SUV jerked slightly as Derek pulled off the freeway abruptly, taking an exit toward a gas station. It was quiet and mostly empty, like the gas station Derek found him at. Derek parked at the far end of the lot, facing the trees. Stiles looked around wondering why they were there. It was dark outside already, but Derek was looking out the windshield like there was something in the forest in front of them.

“You were manic before, weren’t you?” Derek asked, finally looking over at him.

“ADHD, hyperactive. I said that before, didn’t I?” Stiles asked, wondering why Derek had brought it up. Stiles didn’t want to talk about this, nothing good ever came of it.

“Not manic depressive?” Derek asked.

“I don't know, probably. After my mom died I couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck, so maybe?”

“Laura was manic depressive. Sometimes you sound just like her, or you do shit that’s just like she used to do.” Derek lifted his hands like he was admitting something profound then dropped them in his lap like he was ashamed.

“It’s not me, it’s you,” Stiles said, pulling himself back together enough to explain to Derek what it wa she was seeing. “You know that thing where you see something new, and suddenly you see it all over? Like, you start dating a person who drives a green sedan and you start seeing green sedans everywhere?”

“I know what you mean,” Derek answered.

“It’s called the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, or frequency illusion. It’s a cognitive bias. All people act similarly. Out of the thousand traits I have, a few are going to be like yours. Me and Laura had a few big life events in common, so we’re more likely to be similar. But you’re noticing it because you miss her, not because I’m so much like her,” Stiles explained.

“You went to a lot of therapy didn’t you?” Derek asked.

“You have no idea. Like, hours stacked into days, months maybe. Fuck of a lot of good it did me,” Stiles scoffed.

“I can’t do what you just did,” Derek pointed out. Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t very good with thank you, but Derek knew that by now. “I’m going to get coffee, do you want anything?” Derek asked, dropping the subject.

“No, I’m good,” Stiles answered. Derek nodded and headed toward the gas station.

Something wasn’t right with Derek. He looked defeated in a way. Maybe he was annoyed with the self depreciating humor already, but it was the cornerstone of his personality. Stiles wasn't going to stop doing it. Derek was going to have to live with it, or fight with him about it. Either way it wasn't going to change. Stiles wondered if that was too selfish, or a bad idea. He wished he could ask Scott. Stiles might just get a yes or no without any explanation, but Stiles could always trust Scott’s judgement. There were times when Stiles wished he could see the world in black and white, but that was Scott’s particular superpower. He knew how to weigh out right and wrong.

Stiles decided to take over driving for a while. He pulled up to the door of the market and waited for Derek. He came out with coffee and smile when he saw Stiles parked, waiting for him. The scent of the coffee was good. It was familiar and relaxing. It had been a while since he had a cup. He hadn’t needed it and Derek didn’t usually drink it.

“My dad drank a lot of coffee, probably whatever kind that is,” Stiles pointed to the paper cup Derek set in the drink holder. “He shouldn’t have. He had high blood pressure and high cholesterol. I rode his ass about it for a while, but he got so pissed about me telling him what to do it didn't feel worth it. If I would have known how he was going to go I probably would have told him to fuck off and kept on him.”

“Didn’t your mom die from something genetic? You never said what,” Derek asked.

“Frontotemporal dementia. Your brain shrinks, you go crazy, then you die. I kind of got the short end of the genetic stick as far as longevity was concerned, but I don’t really have to worry about any of that now.”

“Probably not,” Derek agreed.

“All that reading I’ve done says we’re pretty much invincible to everything except the obvious, murdery stuff and couple of plants that affect the shapeshifter spirit,” Stiles shared, hoping Derek would be interested enough to talk about it.

“Which ones?” Derek asked.

“Mistletoe and a whole family of plants called aconite are deadly. Wormwood will make us kinda crazy, and weed works, but only like it’s supposed to. We can’t get drunk though, which also is a fun-sucking awful, bullshit thing. Like the sugary snacks.” Stiles was disappointed by the alcohol thing. He liked whiskey.

“You don’t seem like you spend a lot of time drunk,” Derek said, because he had never heard any of the stories of how Stiles spent his time before he was on his own.

“I only drink when I’m safe. I guess, I only drank when I was safe,” Stiles scowled. “I never got my hands on pot when I was home, and I was never interested on the road. No one would come near the Sheriff’s kid with anything like that.”

“It’s hard to believe you grew up as the Sheriff’s kid, but I guess it could have only been the Sheriff or a con,” Derek smiled.

“My dad could sniff out a con on sight. I had to be good,” Stiles laughed.

“You know, you only have one tell?” Derek asked.

“One? I have more than one tell.” Stiles wondered which one Derek had noticed.

“Not a lying tell, a player’s tell. You transition too fast. You did it the first time I saw you. You were talking to that trucker and you saw me. You drew me in. I was equally uncomfortable and interested. If you were alone I probably would have sat down with you. Then when that dude wanted your attention back, I was still looking at you, you switched face. If I had been some random suburban mom I would have thought you were a psychopath, it was that rough.”

“You ruined my game,” Stiles admitted, even though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to talk about that day at all.

“Nobody can ruin your game if you’re playing it right,” Derek said, sounding like he did when he said something Stiles was sure came directly from Laura.

“I wanted out.” Stiles regretted admitting it the second the words fell from his lips. Derek would know he meant more than just out of the life he was in at the time.

“What does that mean?” Derek asked, sitting up in his seat.

“I was -- I’m happy with how things turned out. Don’t worry about it,” Stiles assured him, trying to blow it off.

“No, were you going home?” Derek asked.

“Sort of, but I’m glad I didn’t get that far now,” Stiles said, hoping Derek was listening to him.

“You were planning on going home, you can’t --”

“I can't what? Be your family anymore?” Stiles snapped, not wanting to have this part of the conversation. He wanted Derek to make this part easy like he made everything else easy.

“No, but if you wanted to go home, why didn’t you say something?” Derek asked. Stiles had already hurt him with words that were too harsh.

“You think home means something to me like it does to you, but you-- “ Stiles stopped, actually thinking before he spoke this time. He didn’t need to say hateful shit to Derek to make his point. “It’s not the same. I wasn’t heading toward a future. I was tired. I was giving up. I saw you that day and I got swept up in this stupid fantasy of someone like you--fuck, this is embarrassing. Let’s say things turned out in my favor, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting it.”

“Prince Charming,” Derek said quietly.

Unsure of how Derek interpreted that, Stiles worried about if for a moment, but Derek settled in and got comfortable, not saying anything more about it. He was leaving good enough alone. After a while Derek nodded off. Stiles wanted to wake him up as they got closer to Beacon Hills, but he also wanted to see his old house on his own, if Derek kept sleeping. Derek was quiet as the turned off the freeway so Stiles made his way through the familiar streets. Down Main, and Walnut, which would eventually take him to Scott’s house. Then he turned right, down his block.

Dread and anger filled his chest when Stiles saw the house had been painted. They changed it. It wasn’t his anymore. All the curtains were closed, but the inside was probably totally different. There was no car in the driveway. He focused, closing his eyes to find heartbeats like Derek showed him earlier. The house was empty, but he wasn’t sure if it was unoccupied. Derek sat up and looked out the window at the house. Stiles nodded to the house, silently asking Derek to check it out with him.

Parking half a block down, they made their way around the back of the garage through a neighbors yard, heading toward the kitchen window. Through the window it didn’t look different enough. The house was almost the same as when he left it, except all the photographs and personal things were gone. His dad’s recliner was still there, but the couch and kitchen table were new and smaller.

It shouldn’t have looked like this. Stiles had been angry, but he expected the new owners to gut it and make it totally different, not just familiar enough to ruin him. Stiles searched the ground, trying to remember which rock it was that that had a key. He pulled up one after the other until he pulled on one and it slid out of the ground with a pop. There was a pill bottle glued to the bottom with a key in it. His dad’s name was still readable on the label.

The key also worked, which made no sense unless the new owners were people who knew everyone who had a key before was dead or gone. They walked into the kitchen tentatively. The scent of gun cleaner and oranges was heavy in the air. Stiles found a rag and a bottle of cleaner on a shelf behind the back door. His dad never would have left that out to stink up the house. Next to the gun cleaner was a stack of mail. Jordan Parrish, and a paystub from Beacon County Sheriff’s Department.

“He’s a deputy. The guy who lives here is a Deputy. We need to go. This isn’t right,” Stiles dropped the mail, pushing Derek out the door. He locked it quickly and pocketed the key.

Stiles didn’t know what to think. Maybe Parrish was one of the guys on the force Stiles didn't remember because they were quiet. Maybe the guy bought the house because he worshiped Stiles’ dad like half of them did. Stiles never came by in the months he spent with Melissa and Scott. The deputies packed up all the personal stuff and the social worker told him he wasn't allowed to go back, that he would get the proceeds from selling the house after the state was reimbursed for his care.

He never expected to see any money from it. He should have found out for sure, but he didn't think there was anything reason for him to. He never wanted to open that door. There was nothing for him in Beacon Hills except Scott and Melissa, and a few people who knew the legend of Stiles Stilinski, the runaway. Derek drove to the hotel. Stiles was in a daze, numb and frigid with disbelief. He crawled in bed earlier than usual just hoping to tune it all out, but he couldn’t. Stiles was sure if he went back he could sit at the recliner and still smell his dad.

A wave of suffocating grief hit him suddenly, breaking through the cold, numb feeling in his chest. Instead he was nauseous and sick. Running to the bathroom, Stiles managed to get to the toilet before he emptied his stomach. It was too much, knowing the house was there, that it belonged to someone like his dad, that maybe nothing else had changed either. Stiles shut down what he could, distancing himself from everything that made his chest ache uncomfortably.

Not thinking was better. He went where Derek told him to go, only having to feel the persistent pain in his stomach. Showering helped some, and so did laying on Derek’s chest listening to his slow steady heartbeat, but he didn’t know how he was going to make it through any of this unless Derek made him do it, like he did before. Whatever it was that tied them to each other made it difficult, maybe impossible, for Stiles to say no. He wasn't sure if he wanted Derek to make that part easy, or if he even would. Stiles also didn't know how to ask him for that kind of help. Derek wasn't offering. He was loving and attentive, but silent, just like Stiles.


	9. Great Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The police? So she could be put on trial right along side him? So her name and face could be remembered as ‘that girl’? No, I didn’t call the police. I killed him,” Derek said, not sorry for what he had done. He was proud of protecting the girl more than he was worried about offending Melissa’s sensibilities.

Derek stayed quiet, waiting for Stiles to say something, anything. He wasn't sure if this was a mistake. Stiles was broken, so terrified of what he had found so far, he shut down completely. Pale skin, solemn eyes, and trembling hands were all the answers Derek got when he asked Stiles if he was okay. If Stiles didn't sleep it off, Derek would make him leave. They would go and forget about everything for a while. Come back when Stiles had a better handle on himself. Derek never should have suggested coming in the first place. It was too much, too many changes and too much stress.

A choked off sob escaped Stiles. Derek shifted to look him over. He was still pale, but his heart was erratic and beating hard now. Stiles didn't cling to him, or move when he did. His eyes were open, but he didn’t look up when Derek said his name.

“Stiles if you don't say something we’re leaving,” Derek warned.

This was torture, useless, painful torture. There was no point in staying if it hurt Stiles so much to be here.

“I want Scott,” Stiles said quietly, the pain and guilt made his voice small and difficult to listen to.

“Get up,” Derek pushed at him.

Stiles lifted himself like he wasn’t quite prepared to do it on his own, but he made it anyways. Stiles hunched over on the side of the bed, watching him as he moved around the room. He unearthed the red hoodie Stiles had packed near the top of his bag and pulled it over Stiles' head. Taking some interest, Stiles adjusted it, pulling the sleeves down tight over his arms and hands.

Holding his hand the whole way, Derek took Stiles down to the SUV "Put in Scott's address," Derek said, tapping the GPS on the dash.

Reluctantly, Stiles tapped it in, his hands shaking. Tears fell down Stiles' cheeks, staining his red hoodie with wetness as the drive over. It was almost impossible for Derek to ignore enough to drive. He kept telling himself it was better than the cold, dead coma-like silence from before. About a block away Stiles pitched forward in his seat, grabbing Derek's arm like there was some sort of emergency.

“I can’t, I can't go,” Stiles shook his head, wiping his face on his sleeves, collecting himself finally.

“You’re going,” Derek said, backing off on the demand at the last second, hardening himself to deal with Stiles' protests and pain instead.

“No -- I’m -- I look bad. I’ll be worried the whole time that you’re never coming back. Scott doesn’t want me like this. He wants fun and happy. I can't do this to him, not after everything I already put him through,” Stiles shoved the tirade of excuses at Derek, but it was all transparent and weak.

Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Stiles. “Enable the GPS between our phones. Keep your eye on me. I’ll stay at the hotel. Call me every five minutes, I don't give a fuck. I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you, and you are going.”

“I’m not --”

“I fucking mean it Stiles. I heard that kid, he adores you. He worships you. You’re right, you owe him more than pining away for him less than ten minutes away when you can be impulsive and fucked up like every other kid your age. It’s a grand gesture, Stiles. People love grand gestures,” Derek insisted, steamrolling Stiles until they were in front of a two story house with a large porch that Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of. “Go,” Derek demanded.

“I’m sorry I’m crazy,” Stiles said, handing Derek back his phone. The blue dot that was Stiles flashed on the screen like a pulsing beacon.

Derek drew him in, holding him tight for a moment before he shoved him out the door. Stiles turned, walking backward up the lawn like it was painful to walk away, but he climbed the trellis, scaling the side of the house like he had done it a hundred times before anyways. Derek tuned his ears in when Stiles vanished through the window, relieved Scott was elated to see him. He stayed, listening until he could picture the two of them sitting at the end of Scott’s bed, curled up in the blanket that kept rustling against both of them as they talked.

Leaving Stiles was more difficult than he wanted it to be. He wanted to drive away happy, but he kept playing out an impulsive scenario in his head where he went up and joined them, introduced himself to someone important to Stiles and found some kind of acceptance, but it wasn't his time. Derek didn’t have it in him to tread on something that important to Stiles. Instead he went back to the hotel and gave himself a close shave, sure he would have to do it again in the morning. Making an effort to fight back the stubble in stages would help make him look a little younger. He didn't want Scott or Melissa to think he was too much older than Stiles. Seven years was controversial enough.

He didn’t sleep well, mostly because Stiles kept texting him all night. Scott and Lydia were dating, sort of. Then Scott was totally in love with her but never made the commitment because he was afraid Stiles would be mad, but he wasn’t. Jordan Parrish was an awesome dude, the deputies and the new Sheriff were all amazing, and Stiles was an asshole because everything Scott was telling he was so excited about was in Stiles' email. If he had only bothered to look, he would know. Also his Jeep was still at Scott’s house, and could they please get it running tomorrow? Derek said yes and good to everything, he was tired, but he was happy and excited for Stiles. He finally fell asleep around four in the morning when the texts stopped flooding in.

The knock at his door at nine was far too early, but Derek got up anyways. When he opened the door to a sawed off shotgun in his face he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

“Mr. Hale, good to finally meet you. Will you please gather your things and come with me? My employer would like to have a few words with you,” a tall, thin man with hard eyes and very white teeth said calmly. "Go," he motioned Derek to back into the room.

Somehow they had made a mistake. John Ennis's partner had found him, in Beacon Hills of all places. It had to be the picture on Facebook that Stiles posted. Stiles was so private, so good at staying off the radar, Derek never questioned him. Now he was staring down a shotgun, dread and fear twisting his gut because Derek couldn't lose Stiles, and Stiles wouldn't survive losing him. Derek had to play this smart. He had to walk away from it.

Watching the man with wide eyes, like he was terrified, Derek purposely stumbled back to the bed, palming his phone and putting it in his pocket. The man was shrewd, but he scanned the room over and over, like he didn’t know how to clear it correctly.

"Pick up your shit, let's go," the man barked impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Derek said a little too dramatically. He stopped himself from cringing, which maybe looked like fear on his face.

The man assessed Derek like he had figured him out, like he wasn't worried about him anymore. “Don’t have any guns, do you?” the man asked.

Derek and Laura were known for not needing guns, the man had obviously been informed of that fact.

“No, sir,” Derek shook his head. Fumbling with the zipper on his bag for show.

“C’mon, bathroom too,” the man motioned.

He followed Derek closely, but the bathroom was too small for him to see everything Derek did. He pulled the phone out and hit Stiles’ number, slipping it back in his pocket quickly, hoping Stiles would answer. Stiles started talking the moment he answered, but it was too quiet for the man to hear it.

“Where are you taking me?” Derek asked.

“Depends, where’s the boyfriend?” the man asked.

“He left, he was just some kid I picked up. I have no idea where he is now,” Derek said like he was confused the man thought Stiles was his boyfriend.

“Derek, can you hear me?” Stiles asked, his voice tinny and too far away.

The man watched him as he made his way back to his bag, shoving everything from the bathroom inside.

“Yeah, you know -- um, I was hoping you guys would find me. I didn't know how to find you. I’m willing to negotiate. You guys got my partner and all I want is a little more money out of the deal,” Derek said slowly, stalling as the man waited for him to put a shirt on. “Are you authorized to negotiate with me?” Derek asked hopefully.

The man lashed out, angry that Derek asked a question that would prove how little power he actually had. He jabbed the gun against Derek’s ribs viciously. Derek doubled over, holding his hands up like it hurt, and he regretted asking.

“Shut your fucking mouth and grab your bags,” the man jabbed at Derek again, digging into his shoulder this time. "You wanna negotiate, you follow and keep your mouth shut fag," The man snarled, hateful and impotent.

“Sorry, sorry,” Derek held his hands up and his head down, making a good show of complying even though he wanted to rip the guys face off.

Faint voices on the other end of the phone sounded like Scott and Stiles talking. Derek couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he heard a cough then rough breathing, like Scott was listening to the line instead of Stiles. Listening to Scott drove home the reality that this wasn't New York. There was no anonymity here. This was Stiles' home, no matter if he hated it now, Derek couldn't burn it for him or let anyone get hurt. No one could know this happened. He had to make it disappear as quietly as possible and make sure no one would ever come back. Derek hoped the guy intended to take him to the partner directly, then Derek could end this it all today.

Staying close, the man walked behind Derek out the back door of the hotel. He shoved Derek into the SUV and used a zip tie to lash his wrists to the seat belt. Then he picked the bags up off the ground and took them to the back door. Derek could have run at least a half a dozen times if he was human. It was painful how much he underestimated Derek. He had apparently broken into the SUV while Derek was sleeping, the contents of the glove compartment were on the floor, including the mirrored sunglasses Stiles had given him. It was too new of a vehicle to be easy to break into. The alarm alone was more complicated than Derek would ever try to deal with. The man was probably a proficient car thief, not a kidnapper, or a thug. Hiring people outside of their proficiencies proved John Ennis's partner was desperate for some reason.

“I’m still here Stiles,” Derek said when the man slammed the back door of the SUV and came back around the front.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, but he didn’t repeat himself when Derek didn't answer.

In all their time working together Derek had never known Laura to do anything but undersell the two of them. She made sure people knew they got the job done, but she claimed weaknesses they didn't have, and time constraints that didn’t exist. She knew that looking too good at the job would raise suspicion, and their profiles. It would inspire people to talk and that would ruin the fun. This guy and his boss had to have bought the fumbling, sidekick brother hook line and sinker.

“How did you find me?” Derek asked, wide eyed and curious.

“Your little roadside diversion looked you up on facebook then started posting pictures and checking in. Didn’t take a genius to read the shit his friends posted,” the man snickered, his ego doing half of Derek’s job for him.

“Shit,” Derek cursed, rolling his head across the headrest dramatically.

“Chasing tail will kick your ass every time, kid,” the man gave him a sick smile, his lip curling like his superior knowledge was something to behold.

“Where are you taking me?” Derek asked, struggling to keep his voice small and defeated. He imagined how Stiles would say it, how he would pretend to be afraid.

“You’ll see,” the man answered with a hard look, silently warning Derek to shut up. They were heading away from town toward what looked like an industrial district.

The line was quiet, but Derek could hear rustling, like Stiles was far away. Stiles probably had him on speaker while he figured out how to get to Derek. He would borrow a car, or run. Beacon Hills wasn't that big and they didn't travel far before they pulled up to a building that looked like it used to be a part of a train yard. It had tracks going into either end of the building. It was flanked on either side by identical buildings. They were probably storage. Derek hoped they weren't maintenance docks. He didn't want to imagine walking himself purposefully into a torture chamber. The man cut the ties from the seat belt then tied them back together with and pushed him out of the SUV. Derek followed him, head hung low, feet shuffling, slowing them down just a little.

The building was huge and empty. A dark haired woman with girlish features sat in a chair near the center of the room, her foot hanging in the air over her crossed legs, rattling impatiently. “Derek Hale? I expected you to be bigger, or meaner looking. You’re just a kid,” she said as the guy shoved him forward.

"He wasn't any trouble at all," the guy said, congratulating himself.

The woman ignored him, turning her attention to Derek. “You have valuable things of mine, and I would like those things back.”

“I want reimbursement for my partner,” Derek demanded, scowling at the woman unhappily.

“Are you trying to negotiate?” she laughed.

The butt of the rifle hit him hard in the back of the head, so he dropped to his knees, more annoyed than anything else. He clenched his teeth, determined to play along until he found out if this woman was the end or the beginning of the long line of people he was willing to kill.

“Did you order her to be killed?” Derek asked.

“Who the fuck does this kid think he is?” The woman got up, motioning to Derek like he was a reckless asshole. “Yes, you stupid, stupid boy. She refused to join our little venture, and people do not say no to me. But you... you somehow killed my partner, whom I was very fond of by the way. Actually, someone killed everyone there. Someone destroying the majority of my operation. I almost believed it was you, but maybe you know what happened at least. Maybe we can negotiate for that little bit of information, hmm?”

“Laura, she said we couldn’t trust you,” Derek snapped.

“You expect me to believe your tiny, little sister killed all those men?” the woman asked. Derek fixed his eyes on her angrily, hoping she would take his silence to fill in the gaps for herself and start talking. Her eyes went wide and she smiled sweetly, like she believe she had it all figured out. “I think I understand. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I’m not the first woman to put a big, scary man in front of her to take all the credit, and the hits. So, Laura was pulling the strings. That makes you either very loyal, or very stupid. You killed John at least, so I’m guessing loyalty?”

“She was my sister,” Derek said, not having to pretend when the woman had accidentally skimmed the surface of the truth.

“Honestly, I only half expected Harold to bring you in. You aren’t nearly as intimidating as I thought you would be. I suppose the over exaggerated legend was her doing as well?” she asked, looking disappointed. “I need you to start talking. I’ve had to do things to keep my buyer waiting that would ruin lesser people. How about you tell me where my diamonds are, and I’ll let you live?”

“How?” Derek asked, looking up at her with just a little desperation and fear. He didn’t want to oversell it. “You tell me how you’ll exchange my life for the diamonds and I’ll tell you where they are,” Derek asked, knowing she didn’t have a plan because she didn't intend to let him live. All he needed to do was keep her talking.

“Well the, how can we do this?” the woman asked. “Where are they generally? House, boat, plane?”

“A house in the suburbs. Lots of people watching,” Derek answered.

“Smart, right in plain sight I suppose,” the woman sighed. “You might not be scary, but you seem pretty sharp. I don’t suppose I could convince you to come and work for me? I recently lost an employee, but I might be able to teach you, if you were willing,” she asked.

Derek wanted to laugh at her. She didn’t mean it, and he had no idea how John Ennis had fallen for this garbage. The woman was trying to get Derek to talk, but she was transparent and very bad at it. This was working for the middle men. John Ennis had pretended to be a dumb, rich guy with a bad plan and some shady needs, and Laura had believed it. That part Derek never understood until now. Maybe Laura believed it because John Ennis was actually that stupid.

“Maybe, what are you offering?” Derek asked, his eyes fixed on her ankles. He dragged his gaze up her legs all the way to her face. If she wanted to take the game to this court, Derek was game. This he was good at.

“Really? You bat for both teams? That is interesting,” she smiled sweetly, confident in the false information, she leaned closer to him. The stench of deceit and superiority clung to her like perfume that had gone bad. “You know, your sister told John we could never meet. Do you think she knew you might like what you saw?” the woman asked, so hung up on her own superiority it was easy for her to believe Derek wanted her.

“I have--I don’t know,” Derek stammered, glancing over at Harold like he was ashamed. Really he had no idea what to say next.

“Darling, Harold has been paid enough money to forget anything he overhears.” Her shiny white smile was more predatory than Derek thought he could ever pull off. He let his eyes fix on her lips, following them for just a moment too long. “It doesn’t have to be this difficult Derek. We can be friends,” she offered.

“Friends know each other’s names,” Derek said, looking up at her, drawing on worry and anxiety to make himself look appropriately sympathetic.

“They do. How rude of me. My name is Julia,” she said sweetly.

Derek smiled, letting his lips stretch wide over his mouth and his eyes crinkle around the edges, just like Laura taught him. Julia smiled back softly, sitting up in her chair like she was surprised by the generous nature of his expression. Shuffling noises outside echoed through the phone in his pocket. Stiles was outside. Derek tentatively leaned toward her, slow and careful like he was still nervous but wanted to tell her something important. Julia waited as Harold got closer, gun trained on Derek.

The quiet shuffle of footsteps came in from another door. Harold’s head shot up to see where the noise was coming from. Derek broke the plastic ties around his wrists, reached out and snapped Julia’s neck. A shot rang out as Julia crumpled to the floor. Derek wasn't quite fast enough, he meant to run after killing her and take Harold out while he was trying to escape, but Stiles didn’t distract him well enough.

Searing pain burned through his flesh like lightning shooting through his kidneys and back. Harold fell to the ground next to Derek, his eyes wide and blank. Disoriented and gasping in pain, Derek picked himself back up. Derek could feel his body healing around the buck shot. The small round lead pellets moved and lodged under his skin. Stiles picked him up, dragging him out to the SUV. Derek could move, but every step hurt like he was being stabbed with ice picks.

“Just leave it. Melissa will fix it,” Stiles held his hand out, stopping Derek from tearing his skin open to pull out the buck shot right there.

“No, just you,” Derek argued, not willing to suck anyone else into his trouble, not unless he absolutely had to.

“She already knows. She knows where I was headed, and if I don't call her in about -- right now, she’s calling the cops,” Stiles admitted.

“What the fuck, Stiles,” Derek shouted, angry Stiles would endanger Scott and his mother.

“They’re my family Derek. You want me, you get them too,” Stiles said, his lips pursed tight as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and finally ended the call with Derek. He reached over and pulled Derek down as they began driving through residential streets. Dialing Melissa, Stiles barked orders into the phone. “Hey, we’re okay but we’re comin in hot. Buckshot wound. Move the car so I can park in the carport. You’ll need the kitchen table cleared off.”

Dropping his phone in his pocket, Stiles reached out for his hand. Derek hadn't taught him yet, but he could tell what Stiles was trying to do. He alternated between watching the road and watching his own hand as he concentrated on siphoning off some of the pain, like Derek had done for him. Stiles let go of Derek’s hand abruptly, flexing and stretching his fingers like he was testing something. He took Derek’s hand again and drained off enough pain Derek let out a sigh of relief. He ran a hand over the pebbled angry skin that was trying desperately to heal and break down the buckshot at the same time.

Laying back in the seat made the constant jostle of the huge vehicle more comfortable. Palpable relief flooded through him as they pulled into the driveway and up into the carport. Derek got out of the SUV and walked into the house with Stiles. He breathed heavily and cringed as he struggled with the pain. It wasn't the first impression he wanted to make, but Melissa didn’t seem to care what he thought.

At first glance she looked a little young to have a kid Scott’s age. Her youth and unfamiliarity made him nervous, but she barked orders at him and Stiles like she was used to the chaos, and she knew exactly what she was doing. It made him feel better, he did as she asked, thankful Stiles was there by his side.

As soon as he was laid out on the table though, Stiles left to talk to Scott in another room. Derek didn't like being left alone with Melissa, but he wasn’t going to complain out loud, not when she was scowling at his injury like she was trying to make sense of it. She pressed at a bit of flesh on his back with a gloved hand like she was trying to assess where it went or what it was made out of, and he realized she didn’t really know what she was working with at all.

“I can take care of this myself,” Derek assured her, talking himself into the idea of just getting up and running away. Anything to avoid the fiasco Stiles had turned this in to.

“Oh, really? I don’t care how fast Stiles says you heal, you can’t even reach half these. LAy back down.” Melissa was invested in fixing him already, she was just taking her time and assessing him before she went to work on him. Stiles trusted her, Derek needed to trust her too. “Are you allergic to anything?” she asked.

“I don't need anything,” Derek insisted, sitting up to turn and see what she was doing.

“Down,” Melissa commanded. Her tone was more intimidating than Laura’s. It reverberated in his bones, forcing him back down on the table. She was human, but he was conditioned to respond to her kind of confidence. There would be no more arguing, not tonight. He didn’t have it in him. “What do you mean you don't need anything?” she asked.

Reluctant to answer, Derek waited a moment too long and got a disapproving stare from Melissa. “Pain killers, antibiotics, anesthetics, none of it works on me. I don’t need it anyways,” Derek answered, unable to withstand the disapproval either Maybe he did have a problem with powerful women, just not like Julia assumed.

“Stiles didn’t have time to tell me everything. Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” she asked, her shoulders dropping and her tone making it clear she didn't really believe Derek was different.

Stiles hadn’t shown her, he had told her. He brought Derek into Melissa’s home and expected her to help when Stiles hadn’t even truly proven himself to her. People didn’t believe in things like werewolves. They rationalized everything away. Derek wasn’t about to shift in such a vulnerable, awkward position so he motioned to his injury. It was still covered in blood and obscured. Melissa hadn’t gotten a real, clear look at it.

“Clean it,” Derek said.

Eyeing him hesitantly, Melissa wet a washcloth anyways and ran it gingerly over the edge of what looked like a wound. She gasped in alarm, wide eyes fixed on the buckshot lumped under his red, swollen skin. It was not lodged in an open wound like she expected. “But you were just shot?” she asked, still not quite understanding.

“Yes, I was, and I can take care of it myself, really,” Derek insisted again, even though he was getting shaky and sick for some reason. His stomach lurched as he tried to pick himself up off the table. Melissa was right next to him with a trash can, like she sensed it coming.

“I think you have lead poisoning,” Melissa said quietly. She pushed him back on the table when he didn’t throw up and looked into his eyes with a pen light like she was checking his pupil reflex. “If you’re healing fast, is your body breaking down the buckshot just as quickly?” she asked.

“Probably. What will that do to me?” Derek asked.

“Brain damage, kidneys, eyes, everything. We need to get this out of you.” Melissa grabbed something from the counter behind her. “No infection, no anesthetic? You tell me if you start to feel like you want to rip my head off. Lead can make you pretty unpredictable,” Melissa warned.

“No. I’ll be fine,” Derek said.

“How fast will you heal when I cut one of these out?” she asked.

“Pretty fast. I haven’t timed it or anything,” Derek said a little too sarcastically.

Melissa gave him a lopsided grin as she washed his skin down, appreciating his ability to be sarcastic. At least she wasn’t terrified.

“Where did Stiles go?” he asked.

“I’m here, right here,” Stiles called out, appearing from around the corner like he had been waiting there. Scott followed him, holding a notepad in his hand.

Tired, restless irritation made him want to say something rash to Stiles about how they were purposely communicating so he couldn’t hear it. Writing each other notes, hiding their plans probably meant whatever they were doing was a terrible idea. Derek tasted metal in his mouth. Nausea cut through him, forcing him up again. He motioned to Stiles that he was going to be sick. Stiles guided him over the trash can before the sickness that tore through his gut finally welled up. His stomach emptied, but there was almost nothing except yellow bile and a few shiny, round buckshot.

“That’s three, there’s usually about twenty five, twenty seven? A couple looked like they grazed him,” Stiles told Melissa.

“You’re going to have to explain to me how that is even possible, later. He’s getting worse, check his mouth,” Melissa said to Stiles.

Fingers lifted his lips, then a hand took enough of the pain suddenly all he had was tired and disoriented. Stiles and Melissa talked, then argued before she cut into him. Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s face and neck, taking away the pain as Melissa began pulling out the buckshot. His skin went numb and his head hurt even though Stiles was still working on him. He wanted to sleep, but he was sure if he let himself, he might stop breathing.

The sound of buckshot hitting a bowl one after the other brought him back a little. Focusing on the sound, and the feel of Stiles’ hands on his face, Derek assessed what was going on around him, wanting to be more aware of his surroundings.

“You said you didn't want to see it, but you might if I leave him here. He’ll be in pain, it might come out. You should let me show you. I won’t lie though, he’s a lot more scary than I am,” Stiles spoke, but it took Derek a moment to realize he was talking to Melissa.

“I’m not on board with this plan Stiles,” Melissa warned. “And I can’t see anything right now, not if you want me to keep working. He’s healing so fast. I’m sure I can do this, but if I have to get all the way down to kidney, I’ll need you here.”

“He will not hurt you. He would never do that, tell him what to do and trust him. We have to go, we can’t leave it,” Stiles said urgently.

“I’m going with him,” Scott insisted, like he expected an argument.

“Stiles, you can’t leave me here alone with him,” Melissa insisted.

“I have to or someone’s ending up in jail.” Stiles’ voice went hard.

Melissa sighed, and everything went quiet. Pain swelled in his chest and skin, his stomach cramped and his muscles felt like fire. Stiles was gone and so was Scott. Melissa was still digging into his back, slicing out the buckshot silently.

“I’m not a big fan so far,” Melissa said. “I’m sorry if you can’t understand me, or maybe you’re passed out and here I am insulting you.” Melissa laughed bitterly, the sound short and unhappy.

“You probably shouldn't be,” Derek agreed quietly. “A fan, you shouldn’t be a fan,” he clarified, talking too slow. He couldn’t get his mouth to move how he wanted it to.

Melissa kept working on him, nervous, but determined. The more buckshot she pulled out, the better he felt. His body was recovering quickly, but the lingering numbness and exhaustion made him immobile and unwilling to make any effort to do more than keep himself breathing.

“Can I tell you something?” Melissa asked. “Well, I guess you don’t have much of a choice if I want to start talking, do you?”

Making the effort to glance back at her to see if she was okay made his head pound. Pain shot down his back and settled into his muscles, warning him to not test himself again. He closed his eyes, nodding his head a bit, hoping she understood that meant he was listening.

“I guess there isn’t any way of making you feel better except what I’m doing, and I’m pretty close to done, I think,” Melissa stopped working and counted the buckshot. She had about ten left, maybe. “I’m going to talk so I feel better because, frankly, watching you heal like this, and the black veins on Stiles’ hands? It’s all making me crawl out of my skin.”

Pausing, like she was giving him a moment to protest, Derek opened his eyes and waited for whatever she had to say. Unsure if he would even hold on to it if she told him anything important.

“Last night Stiles came through Scott’s window for the first time in way too long,” Melissa sighed like she struggled between being happy and upset about it. “You know what the first thing he says to me this morning? Scott’s showerhead needs to be replaced. Apparently it smelled bad? Then Stiles hands me this article talking about bacteria that gives people with COPD this infection that never quite goes away, which Scott has.”

Melissa stopped her story like she was doing something. Derek listened to the sound of her sleeve running over her face. She wasn't crying. She was sweating because she was stressed.

“I already know about the bacteria, because I’m a nurse and it’s my job to know stuff like that, right? Thing is, I never thought about it being a problem in my own kids bathroom. I clean it myself. I assumed it was okay, but apparently I was wrong. Then he asks if he can go check out the attic, and the basement, and of course I say yes,” Melissa stopped and took a deep breath like she was working now to keep herself together.

Derek wanted to ask, to make sure Stiles had explained things to her about why he knew that stuff, how she never would have been able to see what they could see. Whatever Stiles found, it wasn’t her fault.

“I followed him around because what the fuck do I have to lose? It’s Stiles, and Stiles is never full of shit where Scott is concerned even though he is probably the biggest pain in the ass,” Melissa sighed. “You know, I’m being too nice. He is such an ass, leaving the way he did when Scott was sick.... “ Melissa trailed off.

Derek looked over his shoulder at her, waiting to hear the rest of the story. He was surprised his head and neck were loose enough to move so easily. He felt a lot better with most of the lead removed. She glanced up at him for a moment, her expression pained like she felt guilty for going on about Stiles while she was working on him.

“I’m fine. Listening to you be pissed at Stiles is kind of helping,” Derek said, laying his head back down on his arm.

“Prince Charming,” Melissa smiled, laughing to herself.

“Be as mad at him as you want,” Derek said dryly, not amused at all that Stiles repeated that ridiculous pet name to an actual, adult person.

“It’s a pretty accurate, you do look like a Disney prince. He’s cute, you gotta give him that.” The smile in Melissa’s voice was probably worth the humiliation, but Derek wasn't going to forget it anytime soon. She laughed quickly at his stony silence before she went quiet herself for a moment.

“I’m not sure what he did in the attic,” Melissa continued, cutting into his back again. “I couldn’t follow him all the way through the crawl spaces, but he pulled piles of shit out of my basement. Old stuff for fixing the house I never even looked at after Rafael left. He told me the old paint might be letting off fumes still. He says other things need to be fixed and he’ll take care of it,” Melissa emphasised the last part like she found it unbelievable.

“I don't know what to think. It’s only been a few hours and Scott already looks better. It made me stop and think about all the shit I thought I knew. I realized something that made me feel like a complete piece of shit. Scott got worse when he stopped spending so much time at Stiles’ house. It was after John passed away, Stiles came to live with us. We thought it was stress. I blamed Stiles, when it was probably--“ Melissa stopped abruptly, upset finally.

She held on, telling Derek everything before she let it get to her. Derek didn't need her to explain anymore. The timing was right, and Stiles said many times he wasn't an easy person to be around. It was a mistake anyone could have made.

“How many left?” Derek asked, letting Melissa off the hook if she wanted to be.

She stopped for a moment to count. “Five, maybe six more. They're getting harder to get to, but you’ll know when I find them all, right?”

“Yes,” Derek assured her. Stiles must have told her more while he was out of it.

“What happened to him, he’s like you now? It means he can heal like this, but he can also see, hear and smell things, like what was making Scott sick?” Melissa asked.

“He can do all that and a lot more. There are a lot of benefits, but there’s also a lot of drawbacks.” Derek sensed the question of Scott looming. He had for a while. How Stiles skirted around it nervously, and now Melissa was worried what Stiles might try to talk them all in to.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Anger, rage actually. It’s hard to control, and like Stiles said, we’re frightening. Not human anymore. The biggest drawback is probably that I can't make any predictions or promises because I don't know much about it.”

“Stiles said you didn’t, but he sounded like he knew. He said it was an Irish myth, protectors of children and lost people. Is that true?” Melissa asked.

“I think it is, but myths aren’t real. The information is always a little wrong. I didn't know anything about that before Stiles figured it out, honestly. What he described is what I’ve been doing for a very long time though. I didn’t know I was fulfilling some destiny or whatever. I just assumed I was being a decent person.” Derek didn't like to think he did the things he did out of an ancient spiritual obligation. It meant he wasn’t a hero, he was a pawn.

“Tell me something that you’ve done, anything. I want to know what this means to you and what you think this is,” Melissa asked. Her question was odd, but good. No one asked him what he thought, not even Stiles. Usually he refused to tell stories, but Melissa deserved some kind of answer considering everything.

“The last time, before I met Stiles, I wasn't doing too good, my sister--” Derek didn't know if Melissa knew that part as well. It was a necessary part of the story, but he didn't want to explain it.

“I know, she’s gone. I’m sorry.” Melissa said it like she meant it, like she was sorry she asked him tell the story, but she needed to hear it.

“I was running and I stopped at a shitty motel. The people next door woke me up in the middle of the night. A man, he--he had a girl captive. He hurt her. I stopped him and took her home to her dad.” Derek told a very short version of the story when he realized there was gruesome death involved that Melissa might not want to hear about, especially if just looking at him or Stiles in shifted form was difficult.

“When you say hurt do you mean like how some grown men hurt little girls?” Melissa asked.

“Yes.” Derek answered, not wanting to expand on the details.

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

“The police? So she could be put on trial right along side him? So her name and face could be remembered as ‘that girl’? No, I didn’t call the police. I killed him,” Derek said, not sorry for what he had done. He was proud of protecting the girl more than he was worried about offending Melissa’s sensibilities.

“Did you kill him on purpose, or because you were upset about your sister?” she asked.

“I killed him because my sister would have. Now that girl knows he can’t hurt her ever again. It was his choice. He was dead the moment he decided to hurt her as far as I’m concerned.”

Pulling off her gloves, Melissa came around the table and sat down at a chair near him. She ran her hands over his forehead like she was testing his temperature, and maybe his realness. She wasn’t any closer to him than she was when she was working on him, but the way she looked at him and touched him wasn’t out of necessity. He didn’t make her nervous anymore.

“I see a lot of women and girls come through my ER. I don’t see many boys or men with the same injuries. I don't know what you’ve seen in your life, but I know what I’ve seen, and I’ll be honest, I probably would have done the same thing to that man if I could have. My son doesn't know the same things about the world you and Stiles do though. I don't know what would happen if he was suddenly different, like you.”

Derek sat up and slid off the table. He was still stiff and aching, but his mind was clearing up and he wasn’t dizzy anymore. He dropped himself into the chair next to Melissa. She thought he was in on some plan, or knew something about this, but he only suspected what Stiles might want. Derek wasn’t sure what to think of the situation.

“Do you think that’s why he brought me here?” Derek asked.

“He didn’t ask you,” Melissa said, realizing Derek was just as much in the dark as she was.

“Not yet, but he probably will.”

Clasping her hands together, Melissa pursed her lips like she was reluctant to talk. “The only reason? No. He talked about you all morning. It was just me and him, Scott was still asleep. He said so much about you, honestly, I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to know some of those things, but there he was, actually talking to me and letting me be his mom again. I wasn't going to tell him to stop. I think he brought you here so we could meet you, and because he missed Scott.”

“He wants you to approve of me, thats why he told you the truth,” Derek told her. He was surprised Stiles shared intimate things about them, but Derek had told Laura things when he wasn’t sure. Stiles trusted Melissa with everything apparently.

“Pretty risky considering, but with Stiles it’s all or nothing.” Melissa didn’t sound like she thought it was a bad idea, she sounded more like she was proud of him.

“It’s not up to me or Stiles what happens to Scott. It’s up to the two of you,” Derek promised. “I know what it’s like to feel like you can save everyone all the sudden. Stiles just wants to do whats best for Scott, and he trusts you, obviously. Nothing will happen if you don’t both agree.”

“Thank you,” Melissa said, taking his hand and squeezing it quickly. “Thank you so much for saying that. Dammit, I needed to hear it,” Melissa let out a short, relieved laugh and covered her mouth with her hands. She took a deep breath and let go of some of her anxiety. “I’m not crazy. I won't let him die or suffer when he can be strong like you, but he could get better now. I need to know more, and so does he,” she explained. She spoke to Derek like she hoped he understood.

“You don't owe me and explanation, I owe you. Thank you, for everything.” Derek didn’t know how Melissa could be so gracious about everything, but she seemed to have priorities Derek understood. It made it easy to trust her and respect her.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry for making you talk to me, you look terrible. You should rest and I’ll go check on the boys,” Melissa offered.

Once he was on his feet he could barely walk his skin and muscles were still so numb and stiff. The lead still interfering with his nervous system, but he could breathe well enough. Melissa helped him up the stairs, holding his shoulders so he didn’t stumble. The guest room was pristine. It had a slightly dusty scent, but mostly it smelled like cotton, cedar and sunshine. When she left Derek stripped his bloody clothes off and slid into the soft, comfortable bed.

He woke up a few hours later to the frantic sounds of Scott’s voice. Derek listened for Stiles but he could feel the absence of Stiles just as acutely as his presence. Derek knew he wasn’t in the house. He laid there for a moment asking himself why he hadn't pushed himself to go after Stiles when he was better, but he wanted to trust Stiles. Something had gone wrong, Scott was upset and Stiles was gone. Rushing down the stairs he found Scott gesturing emphatically, arguing almost incoherently. He had Stiles’ phone in his hand.

“He’s gone. He left again,” Scott said to Derek like it was his fault.

“Honey, you have about two more seconds to tell me where all this blood came from or so help me god... ” Melissa threatened.

“It’s not his blood. You guys were getting rid of the bodies, not just burying them or throwing them in the river. Stiles knows how,” Derek stated, not needing Scott to confirm it. “Did you finish?”

“They’re gone. Everything worked just like Stiles planned. That’s why I don't get it. It worked perfectly. I’m not stupid, those were bad guys. They would have killed both of you, and probably us too if they thought it would get them what they wanted, but Stiles freaked out when we were done. He said it was never supposed to be me and he just ran off. He was so fast I didn't even try to chase him.” Scott was frantic retelling the story.

“He said it was never supposed to be him, or it was never supposed to be you, Scott?” Derek asked.

“Me, he said my name,” Scott said.


	10. The Definition of Relative Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott wasn’t afraid of living, or making mistakes. It was intimidating to see life through his eyes. Everything meant more than it should have, or just as much as it should have. Derek was still debating.

Scott fell down next to him, jostling the bed annoyingly. He kicked his feet melodramatically, full of energy. Scott was somehow undaunted by the last five days of silence from both Derek and Stiles. Stiles was the one who was missing though. Not missing really, he left of his own free will because he didn’t want to be with Derek anymore. Derek was still angry with himself for not going after Stiles right away. Scott talked him into waiting, and for some reason, Derek listened.

“Let’s go fix his Jeep,” Scott suggested.

“Why would I fix an assholes Jeep?” Derek asked.

“If you thought he was an asshole you wouldn’t have chosen his room to sleep in. And you never would have let my mom talk you into staying here to begin with.”

“Your mother is --”

“Awful. I know,” Scott interrupted before Derek could say anything he might regret about Melissa. “She’s surrounded by all these dickheads all the time and somehow she’s learned to deal with it by being pushy and over protective. It’s pure insanity. We should rebel,” Scott smiled. The pure, unadulterated sunshine of it made Derek ill. “Okay, fine. Truth is I can't be in the house. They're coming to take my bathroom apart today to get rid of the mold. Mom says I either hang out with you, or I have to go to the library. Don't make me read with little kids and old ladies all day Derek,” Scott pleaded.

“Okay, fine. But we’re not fixing the Jeep,” Derek insisted.

“What are we doing?”

“I don't know, anything but fixing the Jeep.”

“Can we go to the river?” Scott asked.

“Sure.”

Following Scott as he traveled up and down the shore of the stream that ran through the neighborhood was hardly ‘going to the river’, but Derek was beginning to understand that Scott’s life terminology was wildly subjective. Where he and Stiles often played things down, used smaller, more conservative words to describe things, Scott used big words for everything. Scott wasn’t afraid of living, or making mistakes. It was intimidating to see life through his eyes. Everything meant more than it should have, or just as much as it should have. Derek was still debating.

“Did you hear from Stiles today?” Scott asked, shouting at him from across the stream.

Derek shook his head. Scott already knew about the one email, the day after Stiles left.

‘I burned the wallet, I have the diamonds and the Camaro. I’ll give it back, I promise.’

The only thing Derek was actually thankful for was that Stiles had taken the road cash. He had a few thousand dollars to keep him fed and safe, but he could stay off the grid for months with that kind of money if he wanted to. The first thing Scott and Melissa convinced him of was the futility of searching for Stiles. The second thing was staying and waiting, because in their experience, he would come back.

In terms of life lived, Derek had now gone more days without Stiles than he had with him. It didn't add up in his head somehow though. It had to have been more, time must have tricked him, taken life and added time until the plus column far outweighed the minus. Those few days felt like months when he compared them to how much he missed Stiles.

“Are you going to fix his house too?” Scott asked, finally falling in line next to Derek instead of running circles around him like an exuberant puppy.

“You mean his old house?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. Did he tell you? I don’t even know if Stiles knows actually,” Scott said, scowling like he was upset he forgot to ask when he had the chance.

“What about it? A deputy lives there now,” Derek asked, wanting to know what else there was to it, maybe why the locks had never been changed, and why it still smelled like Stiles.

“It’s still his house technically. The deputies have been saving it for him. It was almost paid off before I guess. It makes sense. His dad was older, he lived there a long time before he married Claudia. The bank let them do it because they keep making the payments in Stiles’ name.”

“I don’t think he knows. I don’t think he would let them do that if he knew.” Derek was sure Stiles would have said or done something if he had known.

“Probably not. He gets so weird about shit. I think that’s why they didn’t tell him at first. They wanted him to stay with us not in a big empty house alone,” Scott said. “I thought it was kind of a crazy idea, but his dad’s friends really wanted to do something for him, and Stiles wasn't headed to college or anything. It was only a couple hundred bucks a month, and you know... “ Scott shrugged like he didn’t really understand the reason behind keeping the house, but he wasn’t going to argue with anyone about it. “Then they moved someone in there because it got vandalized, but -- I don’t know. I guess that’s it. It’s just sitting there, waiting for him.”

Kind of like Derek was. “People really loved him, didn’t they?” Derek asked, not understanding how Stiles could have left his life behind with so many good people in it.

“They still do.”


	11. On Depression and Abandonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they never expected anything in return

It didn't take much effort on Melissa’s part to convince the deputies and the current Sheriff to let Derek move into the house. Jordan was happy to go because he was excited about what Melissa let them believe, that Stiles was coming back soon. That he was on a job and Derek was the dutiful boyfriend helping put his life back together. It was true in all the ways that counted, but it was hard to talk to someone as happy as Jordan when Derek knew the truth: none of them had any idea how this would play out, and they were all actually miserable, waiting for some clue Stiles still cared about any of them.

Derek’s popularity soared when he squared things up with the deputies for taking care of the house. It wasn’t much money spread out over all of them, but they never expected anything back. Their effort keeping it was tremendous. Derek wanted them to know how much Stiles would appreciate it someday. Scott wholeheartedly approved the plan, especially the part where Stiles might be pissed and weird about the money and the effort and take it out on Derek, who understood, not the deputies, who wouldn’t. Derek wondered how much time Scott spent making sure Stiles didn't alienate people. Scott was easily the only reason Derek hadn’t given up on Stiles completely and just gone back home. Now they were fixing Stiles’ life together, when they probably should have been writing him off as a lost cause.

Getting involved garnered him attention he didn't know how to deal with. He became ‘The Boyfriend’ to the older deputies that were John Stilinski’s old friends. They came over and helped him put a new layer of shingles on the roof when Derek found leaks. After a few days they stopped buying the story about Stiles being on a job, but they kept it to themselves. They thought the same thing Melissa did, that Derek was special and good, even though he walked around like he was stuck in a grey haze of loneliness and confusion. Stiles would come back for him someday, but after more than two weeks with no word, Derek began to doubt Stiles ever cared.


	12. The Difference Between Bullshit and Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t chase him. Fuck that. He’s a dick and you’re out here fixing his Jeep? You’re both losers,” Erica emphasized the loser part.

‘Derek, come fix the Jeep.’

The daily text message from Scott, like the Jeep was some sort of totem that would call Stiles back. Sent everyday since he moved out of the McCall house. Scott was relentless. He never missed a day of poking and prodding, being the most annoying optimist god ever created.

The next day Derek relented.

“Hand me the 1/2 inch box end,” Derek said, holding his hand out expectantly. Scott dropped the wrench in his hand. Derek tightened the mounting bolts on the alternator.

After replacing the starter, the tires, nearly the entire electrical system, Derek was sure a new alternator would finally get the beast up and running again

“I think that part looks gross, we should replace it,” Scott pointed to the motor mount, which was cracking and breaking.

“You’re right, we will,” Derek agreed.

“Really? I was right?” Scott asked.

“Scott, you’ve been right about all the parts. You read the Hayes manual for christ sake. I’m pretty sure you could fix it yourself if Melissa wouldn’t kill you for getting covered in motor oil.” Derek didn’t understand why Scott would pretend to be enthusiastic instead of acting like he was intelligent.

“Not true. I skimmed. I got an impression. I’m sort of faking it,” Scott admitted.

Derek dropped his hand down on the frame of the Jeep, looking at Scott, trying to decide if he was full of shit or not. Scott blinked, wide eyed and a little nervous. He was serious. Scott had been faking it when Derek thought he was just being funny and entertaining. It took him three weeks to figure out, Scott was a better grifter than Stiles was, he just used his skills for an entirely different purpose, one Derek didn't respect that much.

“You’re a shit,” Derek said, pointing at Scott with his wrench.

“What? Why?” Scott asked.

“Because you’re faking it. You let your friends believe shit that isn’t true so you look cooler,” Derek accused him. He was a friend, not a mark, and he didn’t need to be impressed in weird ways to be interested in hanging out with Scott.

“Yeah I do. I spent years practically being a bubble boy, how the hell else am I supposed to be interesting? Plus it’s not faking, it’s social lubrication,” Scott pointed out.

“Social lubrication? Did you get that shit from Stiles?” Derek asked.

“Stiles got that shit from me, thanks,” Scott laughed, unimpressed with Derek’s deductive reasoning. “I was the one who was sick all the time and trying to look normal, or cooler, whatever. He was the awesome one. People liked him. He started taking a bunch of grief when he hung out with me. I was the new kid with an inhaler plastered to his hand.”

Scott painted a very different picture than the one Stiles gave him about how they used to be. Derek couldn’t imagine it. He didn’t know so he had no right to judge even though it felt kind of shitty to think of Scott pretending that much so Derek would think he was cool. Scott was cool, and funny, and pretty fun to hang around.

“Just little things right? Like if you read a book, or watched a movie everyone likes?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. I don't want to lie about the big stuff. People don't like you when they figure that out, and they always do,” Scott said, understanding his power perfectly.

“Why do you act like you’re happy all the time?” Derek asked, assuming that was part of the deal as well.

“Because I am happy,” Scott laughed. “No one can really fake that dude. Not for more than a couple days, maybe. You see cracks.”

That was obvious. Derek knew that already. It proved Stiles had been happy though. Everything Scott said eventually reminded him of Stiles.

“What are you losers doing?” a woman’s voice asked from the end of the driveway.

Taking a moment to secure the alternator, Derek watched as Scott dropped everything and lunged for a tall blonde girl. She met his enthusiasm head on, excited about how good Scott looked, remarking on how much weight he gained back. He recognised her from the photos. She was Erica, and she was far prettier than she was before.

“Prince Charming? I think these are for you?” Erica dangled the black bag of diamonds off her finger as she walked toward him.

Snatching the bag, Derek pulled it open. The diamonds were there. The bag smelled like Boise, Stiles, and his apartment in New York, but the diamonds had never been in his apartment in New York. If Stiles was in New York, Derek could find him. He turned to go but Scott caught his arm.

“No, make him come to you, and make him apologize. He can’t come back unless he promises not to do it again.” Scott’s words were hard, unforgiving. Derek wanted to argue, or tell Scott to fuck off, but Scott knew better than any of them what needed to be done.

“You guys know where he is?” Erica asked, confused by the exchange.

“Derek’s like a detective, you gave him a clue,” Scott explained in a very familiar, half truth sort of way.

“Don’t chase him. Fuck that. He’s a dick and you’re out here fixing his Jeep? You’re both losers,” Erica emphasized the loser part. “He mailed those to me obviously, no return address which was pretty ballsy considering what the fuck it was. He said to bring them to you directly, that they’re clean, stolen from some asshole’s hotel room in Cannes? I kept one.” She grinned, pleased with her audacity. “I can give it back if you want,” she said, only a little apologetically.

“No, that’s okay,” Derek said. He realized if Stiles sent Erica the diamonds, he wanted to make sure they met. She could have all of them for all Derek cared. The diamonds weren’t the package, Erica was.

“We’re partying at the Oak tonight, you can come Prince Charming. Be the guest of honor? Everyone wants to meet you,” Erica gave him a wicked, dazzling smile.

“You know his name is Derek right? Lydia’s home tonight. She’ll totally be there,” Scott said to Erica, giving Derek time to think.

Meeting all of Stiles’ friends without him here would be torture. People would ask questions. He would have to lie. All he wanted to do was go to New York and find Stiles, but he wasn’t willing to chase a ghost. Stiles was better than him at hiding when he was a human, as a werewolf he would be impossible to find. He kept telling himself that, but it was more convenient to erase the idea that hold on to it.

“I remember that look,” Erica laughed bitterly, pointing at Derek. “You used to wear that look,” Erica said to Scott. “Took you about a year to shake it, and by then you were old and ugly and no one wanted you.” Erica’s cautionary insults hit too close to home. It would take Derek a lot longer than a year to get over losing Laura and Stiles both, if Stiles never came back.

“You’re such a dick,” Scott rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but you know I mean it when I say I love you,” Erica laughed, kissing Scott on the cheek playfully.


	13. Best Friends Come In All Shapes and Sizes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck, dude. You’re Prince Charming. It doesn’t matter what Erica says, you’re gonna wait whether you should or not,” Boyd laughed, patting him on the chest compassionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which we wish the Nematon could talk.

The Oak was a sprawling, ancient tree. It pulsed with raw, hopeful energy. Kids, too many kids, were parked around it in a half circle. A carefully tended fire burned in the middle where everyone sat. Derek had to climb the tree. Somehow, it demanded his companionship. He stretched himself out over a thick branch, watching the chaos below curiously. Scott fit right in, everyone knew him. He kept looking for Derek, but he was too far up to be seen. Danny and Isaac showed up, greeting Scott enthusiastically. It was more interesting to watch everything from above than to be a part of it.

The tree felt like home, or safe, something good. He could swear some kind of electric energy ran through it, but that was crazy to even think of. Derek himself was proof just about anything was possible, but magic trees seemed a little preposterous. When Erica and Boyd showed up Derek decided to go back down. He dropped to the ground near them, expecting to be silent, but Erica turned and saw him.

“Hey, we heard you took off. I’m glad you stayed,” Erica smiled, the same inviting grin. “Boyd, this is Derek,” Erica tugged on Boyd’s sleeve.

A huge hand and a big smile greeted him. Boyd was quiet but he drew Derek in with his well aimed sarcastic jabs and sharp eyes. After a few beers Boyd leaned on his shoulder like it was an arm rest, mostly because he could and Derek didn’t mind. He leaned in whenever someone walked by and gave Derek a snippet of information, some of them funny, and some of them alarming. He pointed to a average looking guy with curly hair and predatory eyes.

“That’s Matt. He’s a fucking creep. We keep an eye on him. He can’t be trusted around certain girls,” Boyd said quietly. His eyes followed Matt. Derek could sense the waves of anger rolling off Boyd as Matt moved through the circle.

“Why doesn't someone make him disappear?” Derek asked.

“I’ve asked myself that same question lots of times brother. Seems a shame we have to wait for him to step out of line when we all know it’ll happen someday,” Boyd answered. He straightened up abruptly and pointed to a tall young man with broad shoulders and a boyish face. “Oh, that’s Brett Talbot. We didn’t go to school with him, but he’s a good guy. He smeared Matt one time for saying some weird shit to a cheerleader named Alyssa.”

“We like Brett,” Derek stated.

“We like Brett a lot,” Boyd agreed.

“I have a question.”

“I might have an answer,” Boyd smiled.

“Why would Stiles want Erica and I to meet?” Derek asked, comfortable with Boyd’s level of honesty.

“The diamonds? That was weird, but--I guess I get it. A lot of people idolize him here. He’s like a tragic figure. Erica had a mad crush on him for ages. She doesn’t idolize him at all anymore,” Boyd gestured emphatically. The only sign he was mildly intoxicated. “I think maybe he wanted to make sure you had someone to give you the other side. Tell you to get the fuck out and give up if that’s what you wanna do. I’m sure everyone else is towing the same line. Wait, he’ll come back.”

“Do you think I should?” Derek asked.

“Fuck, dude. You’re Prince Charming. It doesn’t matter what Erica says, you’re gonna wait whether you should or not,” Boyd laughed, patting him on the chest compassionately.

All of Stiles’ close friends unknowingly illustrated how much of an impact Stiles had made on the people around him. They were all like him, and he was like them. It wasn’t just cognitive bias like Stiles said. Erica spoke like Stiles. If he let himself imagine it, Derek could hear Stiles saying the words she spoke in his head. Stiles delivered convenient half truths like Scott. Loved like Melissa. He was protective like Boyd, smart like Danny and awkward like Isaac. They were all muddled and too similar, like siblings. New York was too big to have friends like Stiles had. Or Derek’s secret was too big, but now it belonged to Stiles too. Derek wondered how long it would be before everyone here knew what they were, if that was a bad thing.

Cold darkness crept into his peripheral vision. He blinked uncomfortably, icy aversion urging him to not look at it directly. He shifted his eyes and a red haired girl came into focus. It was Lydia Martin. Boyd shook his shoulder, pointing out Lydia. He nodded, watching Lydia smile and talk to Scott. Derek was focused on her like she was dangerous, even though she looked anything but. She was pretty, had a bright smile and was gorgeously made up. The black shroud of aura, like death, clung to her, cold and petrifying. Sure no one else saw it, Derek kept quiet and tried not to stare at her for too long. She spotted him and waved, walking toward him, hand in hand with Scott. He beat back the urge to separate them and somehow protect Scott from his sweet looking girlfriend.

She said hello, holding her hand out for him to shake. He forced hiimself, taking her much smaller hand in his. Her face fell as she looked him over. She glanced at Scott and back at Derek, letting his fingers go without incident. She knew something was different about him just as much as he knew there was something different about her. She forced a smiled again, nodding as Scott talked about fixing the Jeep and taking it for a test run earlier. Derek made himself be congenial, even though she unnerved him horribly. They left eventually. She vanished into the crowd like a shadow. A place where light from the fire couldn’t fall, unless he was looking directly at her.

She found him later, sitting cross legged on the ground next to the Oak, waiting for Scott to be ready to go home. She sat down next to him, leaning against the Oak, eyeing him warily, but brave enough to get close.

“I know what you are,” Lydia smiled.

“I don’t know what you are, Derek said cautiously.

“Nobody does. Sidhe, Banshee, Bean Sith, lots of names. I say Banshee. I’m the only one though, as far as I know.” Lydia pulled a piece of grass out of a clump and wrapped it around her finger. “Your kind sometimes finds it a little off putting to be around me. I’m sorry if it’s hard to talk to me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Derek shook his head. She had experience, she knew people like him. He wanted to keep his ignorance to himself, but Scott and Stiles both trusted and valued her. “I thought I was the only one of my kind until a few seconds ago. So there’s hope for you.” Derek smiled, hoping to lessen the impact of his admission.

“Really? I’m so sorry.” Lydia touched his arm, concerned she had upset him, but pulled back like she was afraid of making him uncomfortable.

“It’s okay, really. It doesn't bother me,” Derek insisted. It did, but it was easier to ignore the sensation of fear and death around her, now that he knew she struggled with it.

Lydia pursed her lips like she wanted to argue, but she accepted his effort anyways. “Brett is like you too, so is a woman named Satomi. If you want to stay here you should probably go introduce yourself. I’m not sure how your kind does it,” she offered graciously.

“I don't know either,” Derek admitted.

“That’s okay. Brett is really nice. Talk to him and he’ll understand,” Lydia assured him.

“Does Stiles know about you?” he asked, finding it unbelievable he lived in New York and never met another person that was different at all, but Stiles brings him a tiny town like Beacon Hills and there are at least three.

“No. It’s the tree. It wasn’t always like this. It was quiet, but something happened a couple years ago that changed it. We found each other because we were all attracted to the Oak before the humans were. I found Brett wandering around it lost one night. He had walked all the way here in his sleep from the next town. It was a weird time, but it happened after Stiles left,” Lydia explained.

“You don’t know what it is?” Derek asked, glad he wasn't imagining that either.

“None of us know. It is strange Stiles brought you here though, isn’t it?” Lydia asked, obviously not liking the coincidence anymore than he did.

“It is,” Derek agreed.


	14. Quiet Love and the Promise of Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Derek, I can’t talk about this in the doorway,” Stiles pleaded, holding his hands up. “My best friend was excited about dumping bodies with me Derek. Shit went sideways. I had to fix it.” Stiles whispered, not wanting to have that kind of conversation while on display in front of the whole neighborhood.

Now that he had his own reasons to stay in Beacon Hills it somehow made missing Stiles even more difficult. He learned things from Brett and Satomi, like the fact there were more of them. A whole pack of werewolves, but Derek didn’t want to meet them yet. He felt broken and ugly, like he had pieces missing without the rest of his pack. Laura he could suffer being gone, but Stiles was like a gaping wound, a perpetually unanswered question. He acted like he was hiding something shameful every time he spoke to Satomi or Brett about pack dynamics. They were kind and forgiving, they understood how he felt and they didn’t ever bring it up, but he couldn’t handle meeting any more of them, not yet. 

A month after Stiles left the Jeep was sitting in the driveway of his old house, and Derek was sleeping in the master bedroom where John and Claudia Stilinski used to sleep. Laura and Stiles plagued his thoughts and his dreams. He was surrounded by ghosts that somehow managed to drown out all the people who wanted to be his new friends. Derek tried harder to make some kind of life for himself, to justify his existence in Beacon Hills. He spent time just hanging out with Boyd because Boyd was easy to be around. He went to the Oak nearly every day. He met up with Satomi, and Brett, sometimes Lydia. Satomi gave him a scanned book on a flash drive that told him more about what he was, and what being an alpha meant. 

None of it seemed to matter. He kept trying, but he wasn’t living, he was waiting. The dull grey pulse of his heart was all for Laura and Stiles. Grief defined him, how much he felt, how willing he was to ignore it and pretend he was okay. No matter what, he would miss Laura, but he was connected to Stiles still. Missing him was different. Derek was sure he was still alive at least. Satomi assured him of it. She explained that pack bonds could heal, they could help communicate, they were like a direct line of energy from one wolf to the next. It was frustrating and freeing at the same time to know it wasn't in his head, or at least, he wasn't making it up. 

It was torture being separated from Stiles, and it was worse because he didn't understand why Stiles stayed away, especially when he felt the same as Derek did. He had to. Leaving him with Scott and everyone else who loved Stiles before he left, was the same as leaving him with family and asking him to stay, to wait. But why? And why go to New York? It wasn't the first time Derek had asked himself the questions. Night after night it was the same thing, staring at the ceiling, waiting for some kind of revelation that might never come. He never had good answers because Stiles had them all and Stiles was keeping them to himself.

Tonight was a little different though. A strange, nervous sensation plagued Derek. It was annoying and he couldn’t shake the feeling. It was almost the same as when Lydia shook his hand for the first time and he couldn’t stop fixating on her until they talked more. Laying still in bed made it worse. His legs went restless and he had to get up. He paced down the hall, then down the stairs. Stopping in the living room, he stood, his bare chest freezing in the cold night air. He didn't run the central heat at night. He didn't see the point when it was just him. He stood there for too long, wondering why he didn’t move or go back upstairs where it was warm under his covers. Then a familiar rumble made his stomach drop. He went to the front window and watched the Camaro pull into the driveway. 

The car was black now, a large expanse of red bent over into the passenger seat. It was the red hoodie that covered Stiles’ shoulders. Part of Derek wanted to run outside and smother Stiles in love. Force him down and demand that Stiles agree to never leave again, but a bigger part of him was terrified and frozen in place. He watched Stiles get out of the car, a sensation of dread creeping over his chest, making his arms weak and his throat tight. Stiles looked up and saw Derek at the window. He held his hand up, his eyes hopeful as he waved, but Derek stepped back, unwilling to pretend anymore. He stood on the other side of the door waiting, like it could save him, or stop Stiles from coming in. The door wouldn’t stop Stiles. He was too powerful to keep outside with anything less than hate. 

Derek didn't hate him. He was angry. So angry he wanted to hurt something, or himself, but he was smart enough to know it wouldn’t make him feel better. He wanted to scream at Stiles, make a scene and have Deputy Parrish come cart him away for trespassing, or maybe he would call Scott and let them have at it first. Scott was almost never sick anymore, he could give as good as he got, for a while. Lydia, Erica and Boyd would all have choice, brutal things to say as well, and they would all be better at it than Derek. They all had far more experience with this than he did. 

A faint knock on the door broke him out of his revenge fantasies, as sad and futile as they were. Stiles said his name and he took another step back. All he wanted for weeks was for Stiles to come home, to give him some kind of explanation. Now he was here and Stiles wasn’t the relief and joy Derek wanted him to be, he was the promise of more suffering, more pain and hurt. 

“Derek. Please open the door. I’m sorry, just let me in and I’ll explain everything,” Stiles said through the door loudly, like Derek might not be able to hear him. 

Forcing himself to go to the door, Derek opened it, but he filled the doorway, his hard expression making it clear Stiles wasn’t welcome. “You can explain right there,” Derek said quietly, not wanting to disturb the neighbors. 

Stiles looked him over, deep, painful longing in his expression. “Derek, I -- I’m sorry. I really am. Please let me come in.” 

“Say what you have to say,” Derek demanded. 

Broken defeat played across Stiles face brutally. It almost changed Derek’s mind, but he made himself wait. He had to hear something, anything that would make letting Stiles back in remotely okay. 

“I had to find some things out, and I had to do it without you to know it was true,” Stiles pleaded, taking an unwelcome step through the doorway, but Derek was powerless to stop him. “I had to know if I could trust you. I know it might not make any sense because I left you here with everyone --” Stiles stopped abruptly, looking around like he didn’t realize he had come inside. 

Derek backed up, not willing to let him get any closer. 

“Derek, I can’t talk about this in the doorway,” Stiles pleaded, holding his hands up. “My best friend was excited about dumping bodies with me Derek. Shit went sideways. I had to fix it.” Stiles whispered, not wanting to have that kind of conversation while on display in front of the whole neighborhood. 

Stepping back, stopping when he was against the side of the couch, Derek sat down and waited. He was unwilling to talk before, but now his voice was paralyzed. Stiles could see everything now. Derek was embarrassed about how much effort he had put into making the house look the same as before. He should have left it alone. Stiles probably didn't want to live with ghosts, not like Derek did. Stiles closed the front door, regulating himself to the small linoleum patch where the rug was supposed to go. He looked around but dragged his attention back to Derek, like he was working himself up to talk again. It was probably difficult with so much around that Stiles found distracting. 

“You have to understand this from my point of view. You looked good, you sounded good, but you brought dangerous people here, where I thought we were safe. You brought it right to my best friend's door step. I had to protect them. I had to know if you really were who you said you were,” Stiles explained. 

“I didn't bring them here Stiles, you did. They found me because you searched my name on facebook on public wifi. Then you posted all those pictures of us driving toward Beacon Hills. You tipped them off, not me.” Derek understood it was a technicality, but he would never have made that mistake. He knew better. Derek hadn't separated himself from technology for three years hiding out from the world. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you understand that you seemed too good to be true? Can you understand that about yourself?” Stiles asked. His attention was fixed on Derek and he was hurting. He wanted to touch Derek as much as Derek wanted to touch him. 

“So, what amazing things did you find out about me?” Derek asked, unwilling to let Stiles in yet. Totally unwilling to entertain the idea even. 

“That you are exactly who you say you are, except you left out the part where you and Laura saved hundreds of people. Hundreds Derek, maybe thousands,” Stiles took a step toward him and Derek held his hand up. The sudden admiration and loyalty plastered all over Stiles’ face was too much. It didn’t track with the rest of what he was saying, all the caution and intrigue he had led with. 

“You didn’t know who I was and you left me with Scott and Melissa?” Derek asked, enraged Stiles would endanger them like that if he felt Derek was dangerous enough to hide from. 

“Not you, not like that. I knew you wouldn't hurt them, but I didn't know if you had anymore enemies waiting to come down on us, or some insane tribe of Irish relatives that would eat everyones livers and call it sacrifice. I know who you are Derek, but I didn't know who the past Derek was. I couldn’t trust myself to believe it if you said it was over because Laura didn't tell you everything. There could have been things you didn't know about. I couldn't let that come here, not to Scott’s front door,” Stiles pleaded his case, making more sense than Derek was comfortable hearing. 

There was no argument for it, so Derek fixed his eyes on Stiles’ hands, meeting his nervous patience with stony silence. Derek couldn’t just accept it, say it made sense and let it go. It was too easy and it made him sick to think of. Stiles had to give him more, but Derek didn’t know what it was he expected. 

“I knew you would protect them, just in case that woman wasn’t the end of it. Scott and Melissa are all I have left. It means something that I left them with you, just in case, doesn’t it?” Stiles asked hopefully, stacking the facts further in his favor. 

“You could have said something, explained yourself in an email or --” 

“So whoever was monitoring us could see it all? I didn’t know how they found us when I left Derek.” 

“Has that been happening?” Derek asked, unsure if someone had bothered to dig that deep into his life, or how he would know if they did. 

“No. I had Danny look at everything. I had no idea how deep anything went, or what kind of enemies someone like you might have gathered along the way. I had no idea how they found us here,” Stiles said again. 

“You would have known if you would have called and asked.” 

“I couldn't talk to you. How could I when you were the problem? I was afraid you would talk me out of it. You would have convinced me that the life you used to lead was small or unremarkable. That’s what you sound like when you talk about how you used to be, but I knew better. I knew something as big as you had to lead somewhere, and I had to find out before I let you stay,” Stiles said the last part like it was futile. Derek had stayed, and he was living there now more than Stiles was. Stiles had given him permission by leaving him there. 

“I wanted you to stay here with me,” Stiles continued. “I saw that future. I talked to Scott about it that night. It hurt so bad to leave, but I had to. If I talked to you even once before I was sure I was done I would have given up and come home.” Stiles took a step toward him impulsively again, but stopped. “What if I had given up, what if I had come home before I knew everything and something came for us. What if they died because I couldn’t stay away from you long enough to finish the job?” Stiles asked, begging Derek to understand. 

All of it made sense, his reasons were good. They were the only reasons Derek would have ever accepted. The fact that they hurt were an unfortunate side effect, not an excuse for Derek to punish him. 

“You look like you hate me.” Stiles stood, frozen in place. Clenching his hands tight like he was forcing himself to stay still. 

“I do. I’m angry,” Derek said, not caring if it hurt Stiles to know the truth. “Have your old room back, but leave me alone for now, and tell Scott your back. He’s probably awake just like I was,” Derek forced the words out trying his best to be diplomatic or fair. 

Walking away hurt. Derek was ripping open his own chest and squeezing his heart dry for no reason at all. He made his way up stairs, leaving Stiles to unpack by himself. After locking himself in his room, Derek listened. He had to. If he stopped, Stiles might not be real. He might be a hallucination born out of grief and too much time alone talking to himself. Derek had never spent this much time alone in his life. He had changed. The Derek he knew wasn't hard and unforgiving like he had just been to Stiles, he was accommodating, kind, and generous to a fault. Laura knew how to hold a grudge, but Derek had been the one to talk her out of them. He never had a life like this before, or the feeling that something big rested on his shoulders alone. 

A different life than the one he had before wanted him here. Before, Derek lived for Laura. He didn't regret a moment, but he didn't want to go back to his old life, the job, the loud, cruel city. He wanted to be here where it was quiet and beautiful. He wanted friends that were like family and people who loved him just because he existed in their world. Not trusting Stiles destroyed all of it. This life wasn't his without Stiles. He couldn't stay and insinuate himself into the only family Stiles had left in the world, but Derek refused to pretend anything was okay when it wasn't. That would poison life here just as much as distrust would. 

There was a thin edge of possibility that Derek wasn't sure he was up to walking. It was treacherous and the path was narrow, like threading a needle. He knew how to fake things like this, how to charm his way through it, but he had no idea how to fix everything with only genuine, honest effort. It was too raw. He was unprotected and vulnerable. He had to take care of himself, get what he needed by himself, fix these problems all on his own. Derek was so lost, all he wanted to do was hide until he made sense out of some part of it at least. 

Listening to Stiles move things into the house, bags and boxes from the trunk of the Camaro made him burn with curiosity and bitterness. He should have made Stiles leave, but he had no right, and he probably would have ended up following him wherever he went anyways. Derek would have been sitting in his car listening instead of curled up in his blanket, sitting on the floor next to his door. It wasn’t really his door though, or his room, not until Stiles said it was. It was Stiles’ house whether he knew it or not. 

The door and the lock didn't feel like enough between Derek and the world when Stiles finally came upstairs. He walked around the bathroom, then the guest room that used to be his father's office, and finally his old room. He sat on his bed for a while, and Derek wanted to ask him if he knew it was his old bed, that they had never moved it. Derek wanted to know if it was a mistake, if Stiles wanted it gone, or if he didn’t want to be here to begin with. Stiles got up and turned down the hall. Derek’s door was at the end of the hall, there was no where else to go. 

Suppressing the urge to get up, or open the door, do something, Derek sat and waited. He had been waiting for so long, waiting Stiles out for a few more minutes wouldn't kill him. Stiles would knock, maybe talk a little, then he would go away. But Stiles didn’t do any of those things. Instead he sat down outside the door and did nothing. Debating what to do in the face of what felt like a challenge, Derek almost missed the sound of paper ripping. Then a yellowed page out of Stiles’ old field journal slid under the door. 

A short entry was dated the day he left. _‘I have to go. I know this is going to suck, but not knowing will suck a lot more.’_ The next entry was a couple days later, _I cleaned out the rental. I’m worried he’s going to think I’m just stealing this shit cause I can. Scott says he doesn’t think so, that he’s glad I took the money, but the diamonds are different. I have to give them back if they’re going to bring more shit down on our heads, if I can. I feel like I can’t breathe. The car smells like him, even with the new paint. He left a suit in the trunk. I think this might have been a terrible idea._

Underneath the entries, on the last line was a new note, written for him. _Don’t be mad at Scott._ Derek wanted to be mad at Scott, but Derek had known Scott was in on it for a while. He was just too confident when he talked about Stiles. It was the only crack in his game. Scott looked worried when he talked about Stiles, and sometimes he was, but too often the expression of stress and concern was never followed by the scent of it. Derek wanted to stay and he wanted Scott to talk him into it. So he let Scott talk, and he gave Derek everything he needed to rationalize staying. Derek didn’t hate Scott, he owed him. 

Dropping the paper on the floor, Derek contemplated opening the door again, but before he had a chance another sheet of paper skimmed across the carpet. Derek drew in a deep breath and covered it with his hand. He didn’t want to read things. He wanted to be left alone to think, but he couldn't walk away from the words peeking out from between his fingers. It was dated a few days after he left. 

_If Roger could tell Derek’s life story it could be cast as an outrageous telenovela. I can’t believe Derek trusted this guy. It took me less than a day to get him to spill about the enigmatic upstairs neighbors that had mysteriously vanished. He’s worried, so maybe that made him talk a little easier, and he didn’t spill about Peter or anything really sensitive, but he seriously told me Derek’s favorite place to eat pizza. the guy has no idea what someone like me can do with that kind of information. Well, honestly, what I’m going to do with that information. Going over there tomorrow. I can’t believe rent here is 4000 a month. Who the fuck pays that much for rent?_

When Derek left there was a basement apartment for rent. It was dark, ugly, and the ceilings were low. No one wanted it for the money they were asking, not for long. Derek had no idea how Stiles cleared the background check, unless he used his real name. If so, then he knew from Scott that Derek wasn't looking. The next entry was short, and kind of cute. _Best pizza ever, but even hotter Evita, jesus christ no wonder Derek likes this place. That woman almost burned my pants off just looking me over like I was a piece of shit. I couldn’t crack her, which makes her way more attractive, but the bus boy talked. If I have to pay this much for information every time I’m going broke in a few days. Punk hovel, 186th and Washington, talk to Monroe._

If Stiles talked to Monroe he knew just about everything besides details about Derek’s jobs. If there was a Scott in Derek’s life, it was Monroe, but Derek barely thought of him as a friend. Monroe’s loyalties were solid, but he was so eccentric and self involved it was impossible for him to love anyone more than he loved himself. Derek liked him because he lived so much in his short years he seemed to know everything, and he loved talking about himself. Derek hated talking about himself. So, they got along perfectly. Monroe taught him things about the world he never would have known, showed him art, took him to concerts, but Monroe didn't love him, he loved the attention Derek gave him. There was no doubt in his mind that Stiles played Monroe, reading him like an open book. 

Another piece of paper slipped under the door. Derek picked it up and read what Stiles thought of Monroe, and it wasn’t pretty. He ended the entry talking about how Derek deserved so much better, but the next one was worse. _Talked to a woman who called herself Desire. She wasn’t hard to crack, but she was expensive. I think she almost killed me for asking about Derek and Laura. I had to show her the pictures of us together before she agreed to talk. I think if I hadn’t had the pictures I would have gotten stabbed again, but with a much bigger knife and much better aim. The shit I found out is harrowing, and also sort of unbelievable. Douglas Kemper 645-557-3878_

Derek didn't know how Stiles had found Desire, or how he lived through it. He also didn’t know who Douglas Kemper was, or if he cared to. The next sheet only had one entry and it was short. _Broke into his apartment today. This was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. I didn’t need to know this shit. I had him, he was mine and I knew he was good. I should have trusted my gut. What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I have to find the most outrageous way I can to fuck shit up. The better it is, the crazier my plan. Cleaned the fridge, found 10k. Fuck these people._ Derek also didn't know there was money in the refrigerator. Laura must have put it there. 

The sound of ripping made him open the door quickly. “Don’t take any more out, please,” Derek asked a stunned Stiles. 

Stiles dropped his hand, smoothing the paper out that he was about to rip. Instead he handed the book to Derek, giving up any ability to edit or skip past things he might not want Derek to see. Derek took the book and looked at the page he was supposed to read. It talked about people he had defended, kids he had tracked down and sent home. It was all shit he already knew, just because Stiles found it remarkable didn’t mean it was. Derek was just doing the job the universe dictated was his to do. 

“I don't know what I’m supposed to do with this,” Derek said to Stiles through the opening in the door. Stiles didn’t say anything so Derek picked up the short stack of pages Stiles had given him and put them back in the journal. “Here,” he said, passing it back to Stiles. 

Stiles dropped the book and took his hand. The movement was so fast Derek didn’t realize it had happened until cold, trembling fingers rested on his wrist. “Believe me?” Stiles asked. 

Soft, tempered longing pulled at him where Stiles’ skin touched his. The last time they were together it was a whirlwind of intensity, every touch was like a burning promise. But now Derek wanted Stiles to do something that would quiet the anger, make it okay to love him again like he did before. He wanted to talk about Laura with someone who knew her, even if it was only second hand. Derek wanted to feel calm and quiet, not like something was constantly threatening to rip him open. 

“I won't go. I’ll never go, ever again. I swear,” Stiles promised. 

He meant it. Every word was etched in his bones, his expression, the soft pleading of his long, rough fingers. Not willing to ignore that kind of promise, Derek gripped his hand and pulled him through the door. Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s shoulders and held on like he was afraid Derek might push him away. Sliding his hands around Stiles’ chest Derek found the scents of the Camaro, Laura, and New York still clinging to him like a map of the places he had been. 

Holding him made him real. He wasn’t a figment of Derek’s imagination. Stiles was here, and he was staying. Uncontrollable relief spilled out of him, but the right words, the right voice was there to pick him back up. Repeated apologies whispered against his skin relentlessly, melted the last of the anger he stubbornly held on to. The whole time Stiles trembled against him. It looked like fear or anxiety at first, but Derek could feel now how cold he was. His skin looked paper thin and pale, blue veins bright against the thin skin of his face and neck. 

“Why are you so cold?” Derek asked. 

“I was driving with the top down to stay awake,” Stiles answered. 

It was getting cold at night here, but the Nevada desert was freezing. It still didn’t answer why Stiles was still so cold. He should have been better by now, even in the cold house the same thing that helped them heal should have brought him back to a normal temperature. Derek slid his hands inside the hoodie, under Stiles’ shirt, searching for enough skin to test for something, anything that could be wrong with him. 

Stretching his fingers across Stiles’ firm, smooth back, Derek felt the muscles tense under his hands. Stiles curled himself around Derek, held him close. The scent of guilt, fear, and sadness poured off his pale skin. Stiles wasn’t letting himself heal. Coming back, knowing what he had to face after avoiding it for so long had to be destroying him. Coming home to his house with all the wrong people in it had to be worse. 

“You’re going to be okay. You don’t have to stay here, we can go back to Scott’s or anywhere,” Derek promised. 

“Can we just leave this room?” Stiles asked, still clinging to Derek. 

Picking them both up, Derek let Stiles lead him back to his room. To the soft mattress with dark blue sheets and far too many pillows. Stiles pulled his hoodie and shirt off, then reached for his belt like he was going to get in bed, but stopped. 

“I can’t sleep yet. I’ve been on the road for three days. I’m disgusting,” he said. 

“You’re fine,” Derek insisted, reaching out for Stiles’ belt.

Stiles backed up and shook his head slightly. “Just give me a second, I’ll warm up in the shower so I don’t freeze you out.” 

He was only going across the hall to the bathroom, but Derek suffered through a long pang of anxiety as he vanished out the door. He wanted to go with Stiles. Instead he listened, made sure Stiles was okay and crawled under the piles of blankets to wait. When Stiles came back his skin was pink and flushed, like the water had been too hot. He dried himself off the rest of the way and turned to hit the light. 

“I’m sorry Derek. I don’t want to sleep next to you if it’s going to upset you.” Stiles looked Derek over like it was painful to consider not getting into bed, but he was willing to wait and talk more if he needed to. 

“What’s upsetting me is how you’re not in here with me,” Derek explained. “You feel it, I feel it. Everything is fucked right now. Just get in and love me and things will get better,” he promised. 

Stiles turned off the lights and fell into bed as Derek pulled his thin cotton pajama pants off. Stiles took them and tossed them on the floor near the bed. “I missed you. So much it made me crazy,” Stiles admitted as he laid down next to Derek. “I felt like it was in my head or something, but I remembered what you said about Laura. Are we going to be okay like that?” 

“I want to be,” Derek assured him. “I don’t know how really.” 

“What did you and Laura do?” Stiles asked. 

“Usually it was me apologizing a lot because I was pissed and irrational when I left. A few times it was her, but she bought me things and took me places I never would have gone on my own to make up for being a jerk,” Derek shrugged. 

"She knew you well enough that wasn't like buying you off," Stiles smiled.

"No, she was buying me off. She just knew what I really wanted." 

"I don't. I wish I did."

"I want to stay here. This feels like home," Derek admitted. "It's your home though, the deputies saved it for you." 

"Mine? Like--this is my bed, isn't it?" Stiles asked, burying his face in the pillows for a moment. "Why--how did they do that?" he asked. 

"Coulson's sister works at the bank where your dad had the loan. As far as I can tell what they did was questionably legal, but they just waited until it all blew over and kept making the payments. No one noticed. I squared it all away though, so it doesn't matter. Scott pretended to be you and signed all the papers," Derek explained. 

"How did they think Scott was me?"

"They knew he was pretending. Coulson brought a print out of your ID from the DMV database to the meeting. We did it downstairs. Jenny, his sister, was notary. They're more than willing to break the law to protect you."

"Coulson," Stiles said quietly, like the name surprised him. "He was like my uncle when I was little. Jenny used to babysit me. When I got older he started treating me like shit. I thought he didn't like me, but I guess he probably just didn't like how I was acting." 

"Verbatim, exactly what he said," Derek assured him. 

"If it's mine, you have to stay. I can't live here by myself," Stiles said. 

"Are you sure you want to?" Derek asked. 

Stiles was quiet, thinking, probably asking himself if this is really what he wanted to come home too. “I lived here after my mom died, but it wasn’t bad like people thought it was. I had her still, what was left of her at least.” Stiles reached out for Derek, running his hand over Derek’s chest. “I stayed in Laura’s room for a couple weeks. I didn’t really leave for a while actually. You said her things--that doesn’t matter. I got to know her a little and what you guys did, how you lived?” Stiles drew in a sharp breath, pain and misery rolled off him in waves. Derek recognized grief for Laura. Wasted, unnecessary death. “I found Julia Bacari’s house. The only people she had left were happy she was gone. I took everything I could sell and burned the house to the ground,” Stiles confessed. 

“Stiles, you--” Derek stopped, rethinking the caution that was about to spill out of him. Stiles knew what he was doing. Derek was glad every bit of her was gone. The threat of her ghost was snuffed out in his mind. No one would be coming for her, Stiles would have made sure of it. “Did you fence it all then?” Derek asked, curious how Stiles cleaned up after himself. 

“I did. I gave all her clothes to the youth shelter closest to your apartment--”

“Hail Harbor?” Derek asked. 

“Yes. They had a remarkable amount of space and a really nice television for a youth shelter,” Stiles smiled. 

“We helped out. Sometimes kids can’t go home.” Derek wanted to be proud of the help they gave the Harbor, but those kids wanted love and a family, not a big screen television. 

“I sold everything else and gave them all the money. I was going to fence the diamonds too, but I wanted you to know I didn’t take them, not like that.” Stiles slid his hand over Derek’s chest and pressed his cheek to Derek’s shoulder. “I stuck around the last couple days I was there and fixed everything on the to do list. I was hanging out, taking a break and this kid walked in, scrawny, green hair, dull eyes. It was like he had a grip on brain. I tried to walk away but it was like a hammer pounding on my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I talked to him for a while and ended up dropping him off at his uncles house in Nashville.” 

“You say that like it was easy. They never go that easy from the Harbor.” Derek sometimes hated how comfortable they made it. The kids never wanted to leave, even when they needed to go back home. 

“It was easy,” Stiles said cautiously. “He wanted to go home.” 

“They all want to go home, but talking them into it was just like.... It was the part of the job Laura and I both hated. Those kids could rationalize anything. They had all the time in the world to come up with ways to--” Derek broke off his words in favor of smiling, then laughing softly. “I can’t imagine you would have any trouble at all with kids like that.” 

“Not really,” Stiles grinned. “I’ve decided to look at the last three years as the universe giving me a crash course in how to do the job well.” 

“Unfalteringly optimistic,” Derek smiled. 

“Not always, not downstairs,” Stiles reminded him. “I know you’re going to be mad at me whenever you think about it for a while, at least, but when I walked in the door and came home, for real....” Stiles went silent, fear and sadness playing out on his face as he remembered what happened not that long ago. “I wanted to punch myself in the head, or beg you to punish me a lot more than letting me stay, and be here with you. I’m just--I’m so fucking happy to be home.” Stiles laughed like he had been holding back the joy of it for too long. 

“Don’t think about the rest of it anymore tonight, be happy. I did it because I wanted it to make you happy.” Derek shifted himself so he was face to face with Stiles. His smile faltered as Derek leaned in to kiss him. His hands grazed over Derek’s skin, warm and promising. Sweet, warm relief flooded through him as his lips pressed against Stiles’. The familiar urgency and excitement in Stiles’ touch thrilled Derek as he gave in, letting Stiles show him how much he missed them. Stiles broke away abruptly and looked over Derek’s face with a wry, knowing grin. “What?” Derek laughed, unsure what the look was for. 

“The last time I lived in this room--do you know what I would have given to have you waiting for me when I got out of the shower?” Stiles asked as he curled himself around Derek, the warmth of his skin comforting. 

“There is no way that could have happened,” Derek argued. It was funny to think about though. 

“This is my really awesome fantasy, not yours. Anyways, I bet you could have snuck up here in the middle of the night without anyone hearing you,” Stiles said quietly, kissing his lips softly. 

“And risk being shot for many, many reasons? I’ve heard stories about your dad. Probably not,” Derek laughed, sliding his hand down the curve of Stiles back. He missed the feel of that part of him, dreamed about it even. 

“You are ruining this. Stop being Prince Charming for a minute and be that sexy bad ass that picked me up in Bonneville,” Stiles insisted. 

“No way, Sexy Badass would have definitely been shot. Prince Charming sneaks through the window, though, right?” Derek pointed over Stiles’ shoulder toward the checkered blue curtains. San appreciative smile crept over Stiles lips, pleased Derek was playing along. “I would have left my leather jacket on your chair, so you knew I was here. Then I would have crawled under this truly impressive pile of blankets and waited. No one would have found me under all this.” Derek pushed at the layers of bedding on top of them. 

“I like down comforters,” Stiles said, grinding himself against Derek deliciously. Derek matched his achingly slow movements, gripping his thigh pulling him closer. “Tell me more?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t think I would have been very nice, or very chivalrous, not with all this to touch.” Derek pushed Stiles onto his back, fitting himself between Stiles’ legs. “I probably would have done this,” he said, grinding their hips together roughly. Stiles gripped his arms, eyes fixed on Derek’s face. “I probably would have been afraid of getting caught though, so we would have been quiet. Do you want to be quiet?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Stiles answered breathlessly. “My house, my rules. We’re as loud as we want to be.” Stiles gripped his back, his hands moving further down as Derek moved against him more frantically. 

“Now who’s ruining the fantasy?” Derek asked. 

“Fuck, you’re so much better. You’re perfect,” Stiles professed as he pulled Derek close, kissing him hard and rough like he was too excited to care. “Missed you. I wanted you so bad.” Stiles let out a quiet moan as Derek lifted Stiles’ hips, holding him as he worked against him. 

Pushing against Derek’s chest, Stiles shifted them back to how they were before, facing each other, arms and legs wrapped around each other as the heat between them made the blankets almost too hot. Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and wrapped it around the both of them. Derek stroked, slow and careful as Stiles fucked into his hand, sliding the back of his dick against Derek’s like he knew how much Derek liked it. 

“I’ve been fantasizing about this since I watched all your porn,” Stiles whispered, his fingers replacing his lips against Derek’s mouth. 

“Unfair,” Derek said, barely able to make words around the bliss that built around the slow unraveling of his own long held desires. 

“Alarmingly diverse, but so very, very hot. You could be a curator. And it’s fair. I missed you,” Stiles argued. His words were almost lost as he slipped a finger just past Derek’s lips. Derek sucked it in, rolling it over, promising more if Stiles wanted it. “I laid in your bed almost every night and stroked myself off thinking about what you would do to me if you had me there.” 

“All of it,” Derek said quietly, kissing Stiles’ palm and wrist. “I’d do all of it with you.” 

“I believe it. I saw the common thread in all the porn. They liked it. It was all genuine,” Stiles smiled, not paying nearly enough attention to what his dick was doing. 

“What’s the point if they aren’t into it?” Derek asked, not wanting a response. He wanted Stiles’ undivided attention. 

“Beautiful,” Stiles said as he ran his hand down Derek’s back. His hand gripped Derek’s waist, his long, thin fingers playing across his skin for a moment before he held tight. “I wanted you all the time I was away.” Stiles worked into Derek’s hand more intentionally, his lips dragging across Derek’s cheeks as his words assaulted Derek’s brain, drowning him in euphoria. “So good, you’re so good to me,” Stiles said breathlessly, his lips moving over Derek’s skin as he spoke. 

“Tell me.” Derek asks, needing to hear him say it again. “Tell me you love me.” 

“Jesus,” Stiles breathed again his neck. He was close, muscles trembling, his hips jerking erratically as he sought out more blissful friction. “I love you Derek, love you so much.” His voice pitched up as he climaxed, his hands gripping Derek’s shoulder and neck, trembling and needful. “Oh, god Derek, don’t stop.” Stiles slid his hands over Derek’s neck and jaw, fingers rough and insistent. “You’re so gorgeous when you come for me. please.” 

Slick, wet sounds joined the chorus of praise and small, needful noises pouring out of Derek. The scent of love, pleasure and need crashed against him, the tight, sweet tension between his legs spilling over in a rush of breathless euphoria. He slowed his hand, still gripping the both of them tight as Stiles pressed another hard, needful kiss against his mouth. He softened, groaning softly as the scent of the two of them overwhelmed everything else. 

Achingly soft thrills chased the fading euphoria as Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s skin, lips pressing warm, breathy promises into his neck and chest. Derek pulled Stiles up on top of him, wanting to feel the weight of him all over. Tangling their legs together, Stiles raked his hands down Derek’s chest, kissing him like they were just getting started. 


	15. Brain Food and Sex Vacations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We don’t care. Sex vacation at night like normal people. You have to come say hi, or we’ll come there,” Scott threatened.

Low buzzing woke him up. The large, heavy arm across his chest was disorienting until he remembered Derek was actually there with him. His scent was in thge room because his arm was pinning Stiles to the bed. Stiles fished his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie on the floor. Scott was calling and it was after noon already. 

“You alive bro?” Scott asked. 

“I am,” Stiles answered, smiling. 

“Aww, did you guys make up already? Say no or I’m out twenty bucks” 

“Against who?” 

“Erica, she bet like, two hours max. I told her two days at least,” Scott laughed. 

“You were wrong bro, she was totally right.” 

“Dick. He was so pissed though.”

“I know. I have a magic dick apparently,” Stiles snorted, laughing. 

“So you’re gonna hole up and fuck each other’s brains out all day then?” Scott asked, not sounding very amused. 

“That is the plan.” Stiles drew in his eyebrows, worried what Scott was going to say next.

“So, I’ll see you tonight at the Oak, right? Tomorrow, breakfast with my mom. Promise,” Scott insisted. 

“What happened to my sex vacation?” Stiles asked, perturbed Scott wasn't playing along. 

“We don’t care. Sex vacation at night like normal people. You have to come say hi, or we’ll come there,” Scott threatened. 

“Okay, mercy. We’ll be there. Derek knows where it is, right?” 

“Quite well,” Scott answered. 

“Okay, I’ll see you then, text me when you head out. Love you,” Stiles said.

“Love you too buddy, glad you’re home.” 

Groaning as he hung up the phone, Derek’s big, muscled arm tighten around Stiles’ chest. 

“There are some things I should probably tell you before we head out there, but you probably want some food first. We have cold pizza or I can make you eggs,” Derek offered. 

“Give me a general idea of the subject matter,” Stiles asked. 

“The supernatural epicenter of Beacon Hills.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Stiles asked. 

“Food first, your brain will need it,” Derek insisted, pushing him out of bed.


	16. The Convergence of Angry Eyebrows and True Bromance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think this place might be where dangerous comes to retire,” Derek grinned.

“Convergence, I guess. Werewolves see and feel a lot of shit we don’t understand. Maybe we were attracted to each other because we both belonged here? You weren’t born wolf, but I think growing up here sort of chose you. There are powerful ley lines around the Oak. You’ll see when you get there,” Derek suggested. 

“This weird stuff coming out of your mouth is all Satomi, right? Because it doesn’t sound like Derek,” Stiles insisted. 

“It sounds like Derek now. C’mon, let’s go. How are you not ready yet? You don’t even have hair,” Derek asked. 

“I’ve changed five times.” 

“Why? You’re just going to put the hoodie on over everything.” 

“Fine, this is fine. Let’s go,” Stiles said, dropping his hands from the row of recently hung shirts. He had no idea he had so many shirts. A lot of them were in storage at Scott’s, but he picked up a few in New York, and stole a few from Derek’s closet there. It added up quick. “I should get rid of some of these,” he muttered. 

“No, you’re keeping all of them, and we’re going to share, so don’t even think about it. Let’s go,” Derek said, pulling at his arm. 

The drive to the annex road that led to the big oak tree followed the highway heading toward Fairfax. They drove the Camaro even though Stiles wanted to take his mom’s Jeep. Derek said he didn’t know if it was in good enough condition to park in the woods for hours and trust it to turn over again. He promised they would test it tomorrow and take it to the mechanic so Stiles would have it like his dad always promised. 

The Camaro was loud and cool. People Stiles didn't even know waved as they ambled slowly over the uneven ground toward the giant sprawling oak tree and parked near the fire that was already going. Derek got out a blanket and threw it over the hood of the car, inviting Stiles to sit. He expected his friends to be here already, but Stiles only saw vaguely familiar faces. 

Once they were settled a group of girls and a tall guy with a big smile came over. Stiles thought they were headed for him, but the guy clasped hands with Derek, greeting him happily. Derek introduced him as Brett. Shaking his hand was oddly unnerving because, like Derek told him earlier, Brett was like both of them. Stiles let his nervousness go when Brett smiled warmly, genuinely happy he was back and with Derek. The girls all introduced themselves as well, one even kissed him on the cheek and said they were all so happy to finally meet him. He looked over at Derek, surprised by the outpouring of enthusiasm from someone who didn't even know him. 

“Expect it a lot. People know who you are. The legend of Stiles Stilinski is strong in these parts,” Derek drawled sarcastically. 

“Sure, that’s why none of my actual friends have shown up yet?” Stiles laughed. Everyone else had work, school and lives though. It was a miracle they were all close enough to get here at all, but they had all promised to show 

“They’ll be here,” Derek assured him, draping an arm across his shoulders and pulling him close. 

It was getting colder. He was about to suggest getting closer to the fire when a loud procession of vehicles turned up the annex road and pulled into the clearing. Isaac’s big, ugly work truck, Boyd’s little red pick up, and Lydia’s blue Prius bounced along in a neat line, pulling in to the empty spaces in the circle. Derek told Stiles to wait there, then got up to meet them, a huge grin stretching across his face. 

His friends began piling out of cars, then pulling things out. Boyd lifted a keg out of the back of his truck, hiked it over his head walked to the base of the Oak with it. Everyone cheered wildly at Boyd’s generous offering. Suddenly the rambunctious gathering of teenagers, and Derek, turned into a raging party out in the woods. The Sheriff’s station would probably love to come and shut them down. Stiles didn’t want being arrested to be the welcome home he gave his dad’s friends. He was distracted from his concern when Lydia and Scott approached him. He tried to do as Derek told him and prepare himself for the dark, icy, creepiness, but he couldn’t. 

“Lyd’s shit, um--hi,” Stiles stammered. Scott looked at Stiles like he was crazy and pulled him in for a hug. Lydia smiled at him over Scott’s shoulder, then he recognized her. The same sweet, kind Lydia that hid behind a shroud of danger and mystery. Nothing had changed really. He could just see past it now when he looked right at her. Stiles reached out for her, drawing her into a hug. “I missed you Lydia,” he said quietly as he held her. He promised himself he would get used to how she was now, like she would get used to him. 

“You look so good Stiles,” Lydia smiled sweetly. She was grateful and happy to see him. 

Stiles realized her life had probably changed just as drastically as Scott’s, now that Scott was better for the most part. He wasn’t much different than when he had asthma as a kid, and that probably meant a lot to Lydia. Scott stayed close, but his attention was fixed on the swirling mess of people around the keg. 

“You taking care of Scotty pretty good,” Stiles grinned, happy when she reached out for Scott’s hand bringing him back to the conversation. “He wants beer, you guys should go get some before the kids drink it all,” Stiles laughed. 

“Want me to bring a cup back?” Scott offered. 

“Nah, I’m good. Gotta stay sharp, keep a look out for 5-O.” Stiles gestured to the annex road. 

“Don’t sweat that dude. Coulson said they’d leave us alone as long as I promised we’d clean up and not tell him anything about what we did out here,” Scott laughed. 

“How do you get away with this shit?” Stiles threw his hands up, amazed at Scott’s ability to bullshit his way out of everything. 

“He tells the truth,” Lydia said bitterly. She had seen enough of it to know how miraculous it was as well. 

“Only parts of it,” Scott grinned. “C’mon,” he said as he pulled on Lydia’s hand, then they were gone, lost to the gathering crowd. 

Isaac and Derek brought out a huge box of food and everyone dug in. The swirling chaos of excitement was like a tornado of delight he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Boyd and Derek were in the middle of the chaos, looking right at home, acting like the team Stiles imagined they could be. He hoped they would meet when he sent the diamonds. He was sure Erica would return them, and meeting Erica inevitably meant meeting Boyd. Derek needed an awesome best friend. Boyd needed a guy in his life that didn’t see him as terrifyingly huge and intimidating. Boyd couldn’t intimidate Derek if he tried. 

“Hey, quiet!” Boyd’s booming voice called out above the excitement. “Everyone knows Stiles Stilinski is kind of an asshole,” Boyd shouted, which made Stiles cringe with embarrassment. Especially when everyone cheered at the part about him being an asshole. Boyd laughed, smiling and waiting for everyone to get quiet again. “But.... But, we’re really happy he’s home for good this time.” Boyd pointed, giving him formidable stink eye while everyone made far too much joyful noise just for him. 

The threat was real. Boyd would kill him if he left again, but he had already promised to stay and he meant it. He threw Boyd a kiss and Boyd flipped him the bird. Not much had changed, but he was glad Boyd loved Derek enough to want to celebrate with him, and protect him. Scott and Lydia came back out of the crowd after talking to Erica for a moment. The dark shroud around Lydia didn’t seem so odd anymore. It was like the opposite of the spotlight she always wanted in highschool, and much more fitting. She never did well with normal people staring at her. She seemed to connect with the strange ones quite well. Maybe that was why he thought he loved her all those years. 

“It’s true bromance dude,” Scott said, pointing at Derek and Boyd. 

“I know. I’m a fucking genius, right?” Stiles said. 

“You give yourself too much credit. I’m the one who told Boyd to give Derek his number. You overestimate the social desires of satiated men,” Lydia said. 

“Are you using big words to say it didn't occur to Boyd or Derek to hang out again after they met the first time?” Stiles asked. 

“Promise me, right now, you are going to take your giant brain and go back to school, or I will make Scott kick your ass,” Lydia threatened annoyingly, but she was right. Obtaining more than a sophomore education was one of the weird things he was going to have to think about soon. 

“I will, I promise, mom,” Stiles rolled his eyes, hoping it pained Lydia to be reminded how uptight she was. 

“Oh, speaking of, my mom already signed him up at the college. He starts in January,” Scott told Lydia. 

“Oh, good,” Lydia smiled. 

“God dammit Scott. Your mom is --”

“Awful, fucking awful. I know. She’s your mom too, so you gotta stop saying that shit bro,” Scott glanced up at him, not really making fun of it. He was serious this time. 

“I know,” Stiles said, resolving to never complain about Saint Melissa McCall ever again. 

People filtered in and out, everyone saying hello and welcoming him back. More people showed up until the whole clearing was full of teenagers and cars, most of whom he recognized. Derek eventually extracted himself and came back to the Camaro. Stiles didn't care how cold his feet were going to get, he pushed his shoes off and tucked himself up against Derek, his legs over Derek’s lap. 

The party stayed quiet with Isaac and Boyd regulating the keg and the obnoxiousness. It was pretty satisfying to see Isaac the Meek run off Matt when he started mouthing off. Stiles watched Isaac fist bump Boyd and laugh, congratulating himself for starting and finishing a mild altercation, something he never would have done years ago. Maybe a few things had changed for the better while he was gone. 

“Are we going to be okay here you think?” Sties asked. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Derek asked. 

“Because we’re kind of dangerous, and people don't usually like dangerous,” Stiles said. 

“I think this place might be where dangerous comes to retire,” Derek grinned. 

“I’m not done, are you?” Stiles smiled, laughing at the idea. 

“Hardly,” Derek answered, eyebrow raised, looking just as dangerous as ever.


End file.
